


Judgment

by aunttora



Category: The Big Valley
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-02
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-27 20:41:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 43,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2706059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aunttora/pseuds/aunttora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shortly after Heath comes to the Barkley ranch, he's accused of a terrible crime. Even with the help of his new family, can he get a fair hearing?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh. This is pretty dang old -- my first attempt at posting something I'd written, three fandoms ago. Reading this over now...I'm not in love with it. But, I wanted to stick my toe into AO3, so here it is for good or ill!

The first real indication that things might be getting serious was the Sunday that Heath didn't come home for supper. Victoria delayed the meal a short time, but Nick became impatient, and finally she told Silas to go ahead. It was an uncomfortable meal. Nick didn't like Meg and wasn't capable of hiding it. In truth, Victoria wasn't warming to the girl. Jarrod, Audra and Gene tried be supportive of their brother, but they all were finding it hard to grasp what he saw in her.

 

Heath came home just after 8:00, they heard him drop his hat and gun in the foyer, whistling. Victoria looked up from her book and met Jarrod's eyes. He shrugged. "He's a grown man, Mother."

 

It was a balancing act, they were still feeling their way with Heath. He'd been on his own for years, and he _was_ a grown man. He bristled at fatherly advice coming from a man just a few years older than himself. He seemed to accept guidance a little easier from Victoria, but this particular area was one she could not enter.

 

Nick was in the gun room. They knew Heath joined him, because in a very few minutes there was the sound of raised voices, a slammed door, and stomping up the stairs. Jarrod said wryly: "Apparently Nick offered his opinion."

 

Victoria shook her head sadly. "Nick is going to have to learn to keep quiet. Although...".

 

"Although?"

 

"It's not a charitable thought, Jarrod, but I do understand how he feels." Meg Wilson was the first girl Heath had shown any interest in since the collapse of his relationship with Maria Montero, and they couldn't be more different. Maria had been young, sheltered, cultured. Meg was equally young, but she had lived a hard life and it showed. Even if half the gossip was dismissed outright and the other half discounted, she was probably fortunate not to have several children by now. She made a living, barely, waitressing and taking in washing, sometimes working at the saloon. She was rumored to have done worse in Modesto.

 

"Heath can take care of himself. Nick needs to remember that," Jarrod said firmly. He stood and stretched. "I think I'll wander out to the barn for a few minutes."

 

"Good night, dear." Victoria thought about going upstairs to talk to Nick. She knew it was his developing brotherly concern for Heath that caused his eruptions, and that he was genuinely remorseful of the harsh words that spilled out, but he didn't seem able to stop. Well, it had to stop, and soon. Though Heath hadn't brought Meg home yet, it was likely he would before long. Whatever motivated Nick, Victoria could not allow him to be rude to his brother or to the woman his brother chose.

 

Oh, but it was hard to watch it happen. Victoria sympathized with Nick. She hated to think of Heath tying himself to this girl. That it would tie the entire family was a secondary consideration. Chiefly, she felt sad. Perhaps Maria had marked him worse than they had thought; perhaps he no longer felt worthy of a girl of decent family, good reputation. A girl, frankly, of the Barkley station.

 

Was it justice to Heath to have these thoughts? Was she wanting him to aspire, to better himself? rather than accepting him for the man he was? Heath didn't need to better himself, she knew him to be a good, honorable man. Of course, his attitudes, his behaviors, were different than hers, than Nick’s, Jarrod’s. His life had been very different from Tom's other children. Those differences still jarred.

 

Sighing, she gathered her skirts and started upstairs. Nick couldn't be left to stew or he'd still be glowering in the morning.

 

*****

 

Jarrod stood watching his brother for ten minutes before speaking. Grooming Charger always seemed to soothe Heath, but now he'd started to go over places he'd already done with - and Jarrod suspected the big horse had been taken care of before Heath had even come into the house. Finally he cleared his throat.

 

"I see you, big brother," Heath said without looking around, continuing with the hard, rhythmic strokes.

 

"We missed you at supper," Jarrod said. "I gather Nick had some thoughts on the subject?"

 

"You might say."

 

"You know, Brother Nick is not the most politic of men."

 

"I knew that a while back, Jarrod."

 

"Yeah...". Unsure how to discuss his own misgivings without causing offense, and half-convinced it was a bad idea even to try, Jarrod ventured: "You know that it's only because he's concerned. We all are, a little."

 

"No cause to be."

 

"That doesn't always make a difference, Heath."

 

Heath turned and looked directly at Jarrod. "I appreciate that. I know you think I'm making a mistake. Truth is, I've been taking care of myself for a long time now, making my own mistakes. Guess I've kinda got in the habit."

 

Jarrod nodded. He felt certain that the relationship was not going to end happily for Heath, but he was equally sure the family was ultimately going to have to rely on Heath's innate good sense. "What do you say to a game of pool? Leave this poor beast alone, let him get some rest."

 

In the months Heath had been living with them he'd developed considerable skill with the cue, enough to skin Nick regularly - and Jarrod, when he would agree to play. Now Heath eyed him speculatively. "You willing to open that fat wallet of yours?"

 

"Five dollars a game?"

 

"It'll be a pleasure, brother," Heath grinned.

 

*****

 

Mindful of his mother's counsel from the night before, Nick behaved himself pretty well at breakfast. He and Heath planned out the week's priorities and divided the work peacefully, as if there had been no yelling the night before. The only tension came when Heath offered to go into town to meet Audra's train. Nick started to object but a sharp look from Victoria stopped him. He acquiesced with something less than perfect grace and soon excused himself. Heath followed, leaving Victoria and Jarrod alone.

 

She put her fork down and closed her eyes.

 

"He'll get over it," Jarrod said reassuringly. "To tell you the truth, I think he's a little jealous."

 

"No, I don't think that's it," Victoria said. "Not completely." She shook her head. "We'll just have to wait, and see if things get serious between Heath and...and Miss Wilson. If they do...well, we'll see then."

 

Jarrod eyed his mother. "I wonder if we're all thinking the same thing?"

 

Even here at the table, just the two of them - it was difficult to speak it aloud. Victoria said carefully: "I'm afraid that people in this town have a set opinion about Heath, and this relationship won't help change it."

 

"Does it need to change?"

 

"I think so, Jarrod, if he's ever to be considered fully a member of this family."

 

"That's hardly fair to Heath," Jarrod mused. He knew she was right. In spite of the fact that Heath, obviously, had nothing to do with the circumstances of his birth, people would continue to hold it against him. A good friend of Jarrod's had taken him aside just a couple of days ago, had warned him of the talk in town. Some whispered that Heath and Meg were a good match for each other - they were both trash. Worse was the derisive comparison of Heath to his father; their shared tendency to sin. This friend worried that the talk might reach Victoria. It didn't seem to worry him that it might reach Heath, or that Heath might be troubled by it.

 

"Nothing about this is fair to Heath," Victoria sighed.

 

"What's your feeling about Margaret Wilson?"

 

Victoria winced. "I just can't see her with Heath. She's...hard. Oh, I hardly know her at all, Jarrod, and it's not right to hold whatever she's rumored to have done against her. I'm sure she's more than paid for any youthful mistakes. None of us are perfect, and if she makes Heath happy.... But I just don't see it. I'm surprised that Heath is attracted to her, frankly. What do you think?"

 

"I'm a little surprised myself. Unfortunately, it does make things harder for him. However, as I was painfully reminded last evening, Heath can take care of himself."

 

Victoria smiled. "Oh? How much did you lose?"

 

"Thirty dollars." Jarrod stood and laid his napkin on the table. "I was promised a chance to get even tonight. I think I suddenly remember a need to stay late at the office."

 

*****

 

Heath spent the morning with a few hands shifting part of the herd from one pasture to another. At noon they joined Nick and his crew riding fence lines until 2:00, when they broke for an hour. Most of the men sought shade and stretched out to eat, then nap. Nick and Heath sat down together.

 

"Reckon we can finish this section tomorrow," Heath said. "Maybe even in the morning; we can move along to the north ridge and get a good start on that after noon."

 

"Yeah," Nick grunted.

 

"I figure I can get Audra back to the ranch by 4:30 or 5:00 - I'll ride out there tonight and have a look, see what we'll need in the way of lumber."

 

Nick looked at him. "You sure you'll have time? Wouldn't want to interfere with your busy social schedule."

 

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Nick wished he could snatch them back. Heath's face flushed, and he turned to look away, down the valley. After a minute, without a word, he stood and started toward Charger.

 

“Wait - wait a minute." Nick followed quickly. He kept his voice low; even so, there were a few curious glances their way. He caught up to Heath as he was saddling the horse. "Heath, hold on. I'm sorry. It's just - I just don't understand. That girl is...well, she's-".

 

"What, Nick? She's what?" Heath turned and faced him.

 

"She's not good enough for you, Heath," Nick's voice was soft as he could make it.

 

Heath's anger cooled a little. Lord knew, Nick meant well. But he was damned tired of this. "A lot of people think I'm not good enough, either."

 

"That's different. That's because they don't know you."

 

"They don't - you don't - know Meg either. Nick, I'm asking you - butt out." Heath gave his brother a warning glare, then mounted and rode off. Nick watched him go, frustrated.

 

 _I could kill old man Montero_ , he thought angrily. Before that, Heath had been settling in fine. After, everything changed. He started going on long solitary rides. Spending hours in the barn after supper. Even when the whole family was together in the parlor, he'd sit off by himself, staring out the window, brooding.

 

Nick made the mistake of bullying Heath into town one Saturday for a wagonload of dry goods and a quick drink. They'd stayed longer than he'd intended, got a little drunk, and ended the evening by closing down the saloon. Meg - Margaret - asked for an escort home. Heath, slightly steadier, walked her to her door and they stood outside for half an hour, talking. Nick was oblivious - passed out in the wagon. But he heard all about it the next day. Funny how so many respectable citizens knew what went on in the streets of Stockton at 3:00 a.m.

 

Heath continued to call on her, even escorted her to church. They went out into the hills surrounding the town for picnics, were seen sitting together in the little park in town, walking down by the river. Once, in the saloon, Nick himself had seen her run her hand along his back and side in a very familiar way. Heath had quickly moved away; Nick thought he was embarrassed.

 

At first he had needled Heath, until he saw that his brother was sensitive on the subject. Then he tried to speak to him bluntly, but met a stubborn wall. Finally, frustrated, he gave in and yelled a few times. Heath stopped talking to him.

 

Now where were they? It was all new to Nick, and hard. He knew Heath had a fierce and rigid sense of propriety. He was less sure of the girl. Her interest in Heath seemed to Nick to be a little on the calculating side. Nick didn't hold with the idea that saloon girls were necessarily bad, he knew enough of the world to be forgiving of the spots some girls found themselves in. He even admired the ones able to get themselves out - find a husband and some respectability. It was a good deal for the man, too, a lot of the time. A pretty girl, willing to work and grateful for a home. Usually both sides were settling, knew it, and it was fine.

 

But it wasn't - shouldn't be - that way for Heath. That business with Maria, it shouldn't make him think he needed to settle. If he'd just give it a few more months, Nick knew the town would figure it out, recognize his new little brother for the decent man he was. It had taken Nick himself more than a couple of weeks to come round to that way of thinking.

 

Maybe that was the source of his irritation - the reception Heath still received in town was unpleasantly reminiscent of Nick’s own welcome in the very early days. He didn't like being reminded of that time. Well, he'd done his best to make up for it, and Heath didn't seem to hold any grudge.

 

"Time to get back at it," he called out to the hands. He'd see Heath at the house later, he'd smooth things over then.

 

*****

 

The family was in the parlor when Nick got home. Audra had arrived - he could tell from the trunks stacked in the hall. No doubt Jarrod was waiting for his brothers to carry them upstairs

 

"How's my favorite sister?" Nick greeted Audra with a kiss on the cheek. She and their mother sat together on the sofa. Jarrod, standing at the sideboard, held up the whiskey bottle. Nick nodded gratefully.

 

"I'm fine. How's Dale?" Audra's first mount, an elderly pony, had been ailing when she left.

 

Nick took the drink from Jarrod and downed it. "You mean you haven't been out to see him? And - what about your favorite brother? Don't you want to know how he is?"

 

Audra dimpled. "I've already asked him. Nick, how about Dale?"

 

"Didn't Heath tell you? He's been out there every night, rubbing him down, tucking him in - telling him bedtime stories and kissing him good-night for all I know."

 

"No, he...didn't." Something in Audra's tone alerted Nick.

 

"Where is Heath, anyway?" Nick looked around the room, as if to discover Heath hiding behind the curtains or under the table.

 

"Heath won't be joining us this evening," Victoria said, standing. "He thought he would be late returning from the north ridge and asked that we not wait. Shall we?" She offered her arm to Jarrod and he led her from the room.

 

Nick turned to Audra. "What's wrong?"

 

"Wrong?"

 

"Audra - you might as well tell me."

 

"Oh, Nick...I don't know what to think. I think something happened in town. The train was late, when I got there he was angry about something. I asked about Meg; he got so angry." Audra's eyes were bewildered and sad.

 

"He got mad at you?"

 

"Not exactly, but he was so short, and all the way back here he hardly said a word. All I asked him was how Meg was. I've been trying to think of something I might have said, maybe...without meaning to, but I just can't think of anything."

 

Nick put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. "I'm sure you didn't, honey."

 

"He's just so touchy, Nick, it isn't like him."

 

Did they really know what was or wasn't like Heath? Nick sometimes thought he'd got Heath figured out, but it never lasted. Like that business with the Kyles family a couple weeks ago. He'd been mad enough at Jarrod to spit nails while Heath had taken it calmly. There was a distinction somewhere. Why didn't that set him off, when a meaningless, offhand remark sometimes did? Like this afternoon. "It'll work out, Audra," he said. Nick hoped he was right, but he wasn't as confident as he tried to sound.

 

*****

 

They were just finishing dessert, lingering at the table and listening to Audra’s stories of her trip, when there was a knock at the door.

 

"I'll get it," Jarrod stood and pushed his chair in, waving Silas away when he appeared in the kitchen doorway. Nick excused himself and followed.

 

At the door stood Fred Madden. "Sheriff, what can we do for you? Would you care for a little coffee and some of Silas's pecan pie?" Jarrod held out his hand for Madden's hat, but the older man held on to it.

 

"I'm afraid I'm here on business, Jarrod."

 

"Business?" Nick rocked back on his heels and hooked his thumbs into beltloops.

 

"Maybe we should go into your office, Jarrod. And...I need to talk to Heath."

 

Jarrod and Nick looked at each other briefly. Both pairs of eyes mirrored back the same sinking feeling. "Heath?" Jarrod asked quietly.

 

Madden sighed. "I just want to talk to him, that's all."

 

"He's not home," Nick said. "He's up at the north ridge."

 

"All day?"

 

"No, he went into town to pick up Audra from the train."

 

"Ah."

 

"Fred, what's all this about?" Jarrod demanded. "Has Heath been accused of something?"

 

"No, not...not exactly. The thing is, Jarrod, Nick, Margaret Wilson, that girl works at the saloon sometimes-."

 

"We know her," Nick said flatly.

 

"Well, she was found dead tonight."

 

"Dead!" Victoria, trailed by Audra, had come up to them, so silent no one had noticed. "Oh, Fred, no. What happened?"

 

"I don't rightly know. The doc's checking her over right now. She was down at the river, and maybe drowned." He drew in a deep breath; they could all sense him steeling himself. "Couple people say they saw her with Heath about three, four - arguing. Down by the river. I'm sorry, Victoria. I’m going to have to talk to him."

 

"He's not home," Victoria said numbly. Audra had come up behind and now put her arm around her mother. She and Nick shared a quick glance.

 

"Miss Audra, do you remember what time it was Heath met you?" Madden turned his attention to her, and she blushed.

 

"Not really," she said. "The train was due in at a quarter to four, but it was a little late today. I don't know the exact time."

 

"Did he say anything about an argument? About Miss Wilson?"

 

"No," she looked right at him. "He didn't mention her. But then I probably was going on and on, he probably couldn't have gotten a word in if he'd tried. I've been visiting my friend Selma in-." She stopped abruptly, aware that she was saying too much and talking too quickly.

 

Madden studied her a moment over his glasses, then looked at Victoria. "Did any of the rest of you talk to Heath?"

 

Victoria shook her head slowly. "Only for a minute. He just stopped in and dropped Audra off, then he went out toward the ridge. Oh, that poor girl.”

 

There was silence, and then Jarrod cleared his throat. "Fred, when you say you're here on business, do you mean to say you're here to arrest Heath?"

 

"No, Jarrod. Not tonight. But it sounds like he was the last person to talk to her, and she ended up dead just a little while later. Now, you know, I've got to ask him some questions."

 

"I understand," Jarrod said. "Maybe we'd better go into the office, Fred. Are you sure you don't want some coffee?"

 

The sheriff hesitated, and Victoria broke in smoothly: "Of course you'll have some coffee. Audra, would you please?"

 

"Of course," Audra said.

 

When she had gone, Victoria said: "Let's go into your office, Jarrod."

 

Victoria led the three men into the study and closed the doors. Then she turned to the sheriff. "There are other questions you want to ask, aren't there, Fred?"

 

"I'm mighty sorry, to have to speak to you this way," he said. "But, yes, I'm afraid so. Lots of people in town think there was something going on between those two."

 

"Friendship," Jarrod said. "Some level of affection. I don't think anything more, Fred."

 

Nick started to say, _not on_ his _part_ , but resisted. He’d learned the hard way -- in these situations it was best to let Jarrod do the talking. When Audra came with the coffee, Madden took a few sips, then stood. He looked out the window - it had become full dark while they'd been sitting there. "Shouldn't he be back by now?"

 

"He probably worked until it got dark, and it's a long ride back when you've got to go slow," Nick said. "You, ah, thinking of getting a posse together, Fred?" Nick grinned, but the grin faded at the set expression on the sheriff's face.

 

"No. But I want to see him in town, first thing in the morning, Jarrod. Can I count on you?"

 

"We'll be there," Jarrod promised.

 

Audra went to bed shortly after Madden left, pleading exhaustion from her trip. Victoria followed soon after. Jarrod and Nick stayed up until midnight, but Heath didn't come home.

 

*****

 

"Where in the _hell_ were you?" Fueled by fear, and anger, sleeplessness and worry, Nick grabbed his shoulder and jerked him around, almost knocking him off his feet.

 

Heath's fists came up automatically and he nearly took a swing at Nick before recognizing him and backing away. For a moment they stood there, panting, glaring at each other.

 

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" Nick demanded. "Jesus, Heath!"

 

"Back off, Nick," Heath growled. "I've had enough, hear me? Just back off." He straightened and returned to saddling Otis, his usual backup horse. Nick noticed that Charger was not in his stall.

 

"Where's Charger?"

 

Heath hesitated, as if debating giving any answer. Finally he said: "Come up lame; I didn't want to walk him all that way in the dark. Left him in the paddock at the line shack."

 

"Hurt bad?"

 

"Don't know. Couldn't see."

 

"Well, you damn fool, why didn't you stay there too?" Nick jammed his fists against his hips. He was so relieved to see Heath home, safe and unhurt, his emotions sprayed out in all directions. He and Jarrod had waited until the early hours for his return, then Nick had announced his decision to go out and look. Jarrod had talked him out of it, suggesting they get some rest, wait until daylight, then go on out together. After a few restless hours wasted spent trying to sleep, Nick had decided to come out to the barn and get Coco and Jingo ready. To his shock he found Heath already there.

 

Now he noticed other things: Heath was wearing only his jacket with no shirt underneath. His chest, and neck, were badly scratched. "What happened to you?"

 

"Nothing," Heath said. "Just had a long night is all."

 

"You're all scraped up."

 

Heath looked down at his chest, then buttoned the jacket. "Got tangled up in some briers, tried to cut through that bog up by Bitter Lake, got turned around."

 

"Jesus, Heath, why didn't you just stay at the line shack?" Nick stepped closer and rested his hand carefully on Heath's shoulder. He tensed, but allowed it. "I'm sorry. I'm damn glad to see you. You scared the life out of us."

 

"Wanted to get back there first thing this morning, see how bad it is. Maybe get the vet." Heath looked at him finally, curiously. "I've been out all night before. There's no call to get upset, Nick." He finished tightening the cinches and affectionately slapped Otis on the rump. "I'm gonna grab something to eat and get going."

 

Nick watched him walk stiffly across the yard until he disappeared into the darkness - he must have walked ten miles, no wonder he'd been irritable. No wonder he was tired.

 

It was an hour until daylight, much too early for anyone save possibly Silas to be up. Certainly Jarrod would still be sleeping. Well, he'd have to wake him, that was all. Best get this over with as quick as possible.

 

*****

 

"Heath."

 

He looked up from the sandwich he was making of cold beef, last night's supper. "Jarrod? Little early for you, isn't it?"

 

Nick came in behind Jarrod and closed the door.

 

"What is this?" Heath looked from one brother to the other. "What's going on?"

 

"Heath, we need to talk about what happened yesterday." Jarrod sat down at the table; Nick turned a chair around and straddled it. Slowly, Heath sat between them.

 

"What happened yesterday? I already told Nick – Charger went lame up by the ridge, I left him there and walked home. I woulda sent a telegram letting you know but there ain't an office out that way," Heath added dryly.

 

"That's not what I'm talking about," Jarrod said. "I mean in town. Earlier, when you went in to pick up Audra."

 

"I don't know what you're talking about," Heath said flatly.

 

'I'm sorry, Heath. I'd prefer not to press you on this, but unfortunately I don't have a choice. Fred Madden was out here last night."

 

Heath's body tensed, it was a visible reaction. "Oh? What about?"

 

"About Meg Wilson." Jarrod's voice was carefully neutral.

 

"I see." Heath sat there, muscles rigid.

 

"He wants to talk to you first thing this morning."

 

Heath stood up abruptly and walked to the window. He stared out into the darkness for a full minute. Without turning around he said: "Do I got to?"

 

"I'm afraid so, Heath. It's best to keep this informal. But I need to know what happened. Fred says that people saw you arguing, at the river."

 

Heath laughed mirthlessly. "I suppose they did. I suppose they couldn't wait to tell him."

 

Jarrod and Nick looked at each other for a second. Nick said: "Heath. Whatever happened, you need to tell us. Jarrod can't help you if he doesn't know everything. Audra told me you were upset about something that happened in town, that you got mad when she asked about Meg." Jarrod's eyebrows rose, but he was silent, allowing Nick to continue. "Whatever it was, Heath, we'll stand by you. You know that."

 

"I didn't have nothing to do with that," Heath said, voice low. "She says I did, she's lying." His head sagged, as if the effort to hold it up was suddenly too much.

 

"'She says'?" Jarrod went to Heath at the sink. "Heath, what do you mean?"

 

Heath shook his head slowly. "I'm tired, Jarrod," he said. "Been on my feet all night. Whatever you got to say - why don't you just say it plain?"

 

 _He doesn't know_ , Jarrod thought. Then, shame. _Of course not, how could he?_ "Heath," he said gently. "Meg is dead."

 

For a second there was no reaction at all. Then Heath looked at Jarrod, eyes blank. "Dead?" he asked, tonelessly. "Dead?"

 

Then his eyes changed, there was a terrible knowledge in them. "Was it-?" he stopped what he had begun to say, started again. "What happened?"

 

"Drowned, Fred thinks."

 

"Drowned?" Heath's legs wobbled, and Jarrod grabbed his arm and forced him back to the table and into the chair.

 

Nick stood. "I'll get you a drink."

 

"No," Jarrod said. "We'll have to go to town in a little while, better his head is clear when he talks to Fred."

 

"Coffee, then. Heath - did you eat anything last night?"

 

Heath shook his head slowly, then closed his eyes and rubbed them with fingers visibly trembling. "Drowned?" he repeated, helplessly.

 

"Nick's right, you need to eat something. Maybe even get a few hours of sleep." Jarrod rested his hand on his brother's shoulder. They still needed to talk, but Heath was obviously in no condition.

 

"Can't...gotta get back...Charger's up at the ridge."

 

"I'll take care of Charger," Nick said. "I'll have one of the hands go into town, get Doc Hamilton up there. He can stop by here and take another look at Dale while he's at it." Nick squeezed Heath's arm then moved to the icebox. "I'll fry up some eggs, make some coffee. Get something besides cold beef in you, you'll feel better."

 

Nick busied himself building up the kitchen fire and grinding coffee while Jarrod sat watching Heath. After a few minutes Heath drew in a deep breath and seemed to come to himself. "She had a hard life," he said. "Harder'n anyone knows. Lots of folks never had to face what she did; I don't know anyone could do better, considering. She made mistakes-". Again, he stopped himself. "Everyone makes mistakes," he finished quietly.

 

If this were a client Jarrod would have asked at this point, did you make a mistake yesterday afternoon? It was on the tip of his tongue to do so. He felt himself uncomfortably straddling the fence between brother and attorney.

 

So much easier if it were Nick, or Gene; with them he could demand answers, shout them down if he had to. With Heath, he felt - they all felt - the need to be more careful. Heath was a private man; Jarrod was respectful of the distance Heath put between them. He hoped that someday it would disappear; he knew he couldn't rush it.

 

Forcefully, he came down on the side of brother. If later Heath needed an attorney more.... But here, in the kitchen in the early morning, Heath needed his brothers. "You cared for her," he said. "I'm sorry, Heath."

 

"It wasn't like that," Heath said. "She was...struggling." He sighed. "We had some of the same struggles." He took the cup of coffee Nick handed him and sipped at it, done talking.

 

There was a glimmer of light from outside. It would be dawn soon; Jarrod wondered how late they could leave it before Fred came out looking. In one sense that would be fine, Heath would be in a more comfortable environment. Being questioned in the sheriff's office was intimidating no matter the circumstances. But on the other hand Jarrod had promised to bring Heath in, and doing so would demonstrate their good faith. Failing to do so would demonstrate the opposite, and it wasn't a good idea to start off an investigation irritating and inconveniencing the sheriff. Fred hadn't said so directly, but it had been clear to Jarrod that he suspected something other than an accidental drowning.

 

"Do you want to try and get some sleep?" Jarrod asked.

 

Heath shook his head. "Couldn't," he said. "But I would like something in this." He held up his cup. Nick, with a quick look at Jarrod, who shrugged, left the kitchen to get the whiskey bottle. "When did it happen?" Heath asked.

 

"I don't know. Fred was out here just about when it got dark; probably a couple of hours before that. You left her when?"

 

"I don't know, Jarrod. Maybe twenty minutes before I met Audra. She might remember the time."

 

Jarrod leaned close. "You said you had the same struggles. Heath, what do you mean?"

 

Haltingly, Heath tried to explain: "Lots of people judged her, thought they knew what she was, because of the way she talked, dressed, what she did for a living. I'd see the way some of them old women looked at her - I got those same looks, Jarrod. Sometimes I still do. Well, mostly I don't care what they think, but she does. Did. All she wanted was to walk down the street and say good morning, have them say good morning back. That's not a lot to want out of life."

 

"No, it isn't," Jarrod agreed.

 

"And she never even had that." Nick returned and poured a good amount of whiskey into Heath's coffee cup, then a shot for himself. He left the bottle on the table. "Just don't seem right, to want so little, and not even get to have that," Heath murmured.

 

"You ready for grub?" Nick asked gruffly. He'd scrambled at least a dozen eggs and fried some sliced bread. As he dished up three heaping plates, they heard Silas stirring in the little room off the kitchen.

 

Heath poked at the eggs - undercooked in some places, burnt in others; a little better than Nick managed on the trail but a far cry from the usual Barkley family breakfast. Somehow, this morning, he preferred it to Silas's elaborate pastries and choice of ham, sausage or bacon. It made him smile to see Nick standing at the stove, holding onto the frypan with a towel wrapped around the handle. The food, coffee and whiskey was settling into his stomach, making him feel warm and sleepy. His eyelids drooped. "Think I will lay down for a minute," he muttered. "Sheriff won't be in his office until nine or so."

 

Jarrod said: "All right, Heath. I'll wake you in a couple hours, plenty of time to get cleaned up and into town before then."

 

"I'll take care of Charger," Nick said.

 

"No, after I talk to the sheriff I'll go get the vet myself." Heath pushed himself back from the table. He handed Nick a page torn from his notebook. "Here, I wrote down what you'll need. I'll meet you out there soon as I can."

 

Nick took the paper and read it bemusedly. _Posts, 20. Wire, 15 rolls_. It continued, listing lengths and quantity of rails and three different types of nails. His lips quirked. Typical Heath. He'd almost forgotten their discussion...just sixteen hours ago? Hard to believe. "All right Heath," he said. "We'll be looking for you."

 

When they heard their brother's tired footsteps reach the top of the back stairs and start down the hall, Nick and Jarrod shared a wary look. "He in trouble?" Nick asked.

 

"I don't know. Fred's going to ask him about this argument people saw. I'm going to have to hear about it first. I can't say I'm looking forward to asking him."

 

"Jarrod, you don't seriously think Heath-".

 

"Mr. Jarrod! Mr. Nick!" Silas hurried into the kitchen. "I thought I heard someone out here. Let me make you something quick - some good coffee."

 

"Got good coffee!" Nick said.

 

"What we've got here is only _coffee_ on a technicality," Jarrod corrected. "Silas, I would love some good coffee." After a pot shared in Jarrod's study, Nick went off to talk to the foreman. Jarrod declined Nick’s offer to accompany them to town; He wanted to keep the process as low-key as possible for as long as possible. They decided it might also be easier for Heath to be frank with Jarrod alone. That was a little bit of a sore spot for Nick, but he eventually had to acknowledge the truth of it.

 

Jarrod sat alone at his desk, lost in thought. The fact of it was, Heath had been absolutely right. People in town had judged Meg Wilson, and they would judge Heath. It would be of little import if there were no evidence tying Heath to wrongdoing. Whispers would dog him the rest of his life. And he was troubled by Heath's reaction _. I didn't have nothing to do with that. She says I did she's lying._ What did it mean?

 

He watched the hands of the clock move slowly, the sun outside his window climb over the trees. He'd have to wake Heath soon.

 

*****

 

He’d collapsed fully clothed, face down on the bed, only kicking off his boots. Despite the situation, Jarrod had to grin – Nick did the same thing. It didn’t save any time, since he always changed in the morning. Nick insisted that after so many nights outside, on the trail or the outskirts of the property, he just felt more comfortable sleeping in his clothes.

 

This morning, though, Heath had probably been too exhausted to change. He hadn’t responded to Jarrod’s knock and was sleeping soundly now. “Heath.” Jarrod said. “It’s time to get up. Heath.” Still no reaction, so Jarrod reached down and shook him gently.

 

He came awake instantly and turned to look at Jarrod, eyes only briefly confused. Then he sat up and started to stretch out his back. “What time is it?”

 

“Almost eight. You okay?”

 

Heath shrugged. He got up and moved stiffly to the washstand, dipped his hands in the cold water and splashed some on his face.

 

Jarrod said: “I figure if we leave by 8:30 we can meet Fred first thing, get it out of the way. But before that, Heath, you and I need to talk.”

 

“So, talk,” Heath said. He stripped off his coat and dug a shirt out of the wardrobe. As he did so, Jarrod saw the scratches criss-crossing his chest.

 

“What happened?” he demanded. “Heath, that looks awful. Mother should–“.

 

“It’s nothing, just got into some stickers in the dark. And I don’t need any tending,” Heath said firmly. He buttoned the shirt. “Ask your questions, lawyer.”

 

Jarrod winced. “Heath, you know I don’t want to pry. I’m trying to help. But chances are, at least initially, Fred is going to treat this as a criminal investigation. If no one saw Meg drown, if you were the last person to speak with her, it’s his duty to treat you as a suspect. He’s going to ask questions that you aren’t going to like answering – I wouldn’t either. Now, the best thing you can do is tell me everything, so there aren’t any surprises when Fred asks.”

 

“Nothing happened, Jarrod. Audra’s train was late. I went into the saloon for a beer. Meg was there, we went down to the water. We weren’t there more’n a few minutes, then I heard the train whistle and I went back to the wagon. That’s it.”

 

“You left her there?”

 

“That’s right.”

 

“Fred said people saw you arguing.”

 

Heath’s jaw set. “It wasn’t the most pleasant conversation I ever had, that’s so.”

 

“What was the argument about?”

 

Heath shook his head. “Jarrod, that’s none of your business.”

 

“Fred is going to ask,” Jarrod warned.

 

“He can ask.”

 

“He isn’t going to take ‘that’s none of your business’ as an answer, Heath.” Jarrod eyed his stubborn brother, stifling another grin at the expression on his face, again so much like Nick it was almost comical. “Heath, it seems to me we’re avoiding the real issue here. I need to know what the relationship was, between the two of you.”

 

“Do you?” Heath looked at him.

 

“I need to know everything, Heath. I can’t help you if you keep things from me.”

 

“What makes you think I need help?”

 

Impatiently, Jarrod said: “If you act this way in Fred’s office, it’s going to look as if you have something to hide.”

 

“I got nothing to hide,” Heath said firmly. He looked straight into Jarrod’s eyes. “There wasn’t anything ever happened between us, including yesterday, that couldn’t have happened in church on Sunday. Jarrod, she was my friend, but that’s all. She was having a lot of the same kind of trouble I had. Sometimes it’s hard to…to live another way when you’re used to something else. Helps to talk to someone understands that.”

 

That seemed to be all he had to say, so Jarrod tried another approach. “How many beers did you have?”

 

“One. And I didn’t finish it.”

 

“Who was working the bar?”

 

“Cody.”

 

“When you were at the river, did you see anyone else?”

 

Heath thought for a minute. “I think there were some other folks, but I don’t remember who. Not sure I saw ‘em clear. I’ll think on it.”

 

“When you left, was there anyone else there, or did you meet someone on the road that might remember seeing you?”

 

Heath shook his head. “I don’t remember, Jarrod.”

 

“Well, did you speak to anyone at all, after you left Meg but before you met Audra?”

 

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

 

He wasn’t being deliberately difficult, but he wasn’t making much of an effort. Jarrod drew in a deep breath. “Heath, this morning, you said that ‘if she says I had anything to do with that, she’s lying’. What did you mean by that?”

 

The look Heath gave him was equal parts anger and disgust. “You taking notes of everything I say now?”

 

“Of course not. Heath, please understand, if I’m to do my job–“.

 

“I don’t recall hiring you to do a job, Jarrod,” Heath said.

***


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens. Point of view wanders.

The ride into town was uncomfortable. Heath wanted to take Otis, Jarrod insisted on their riding together in the buggy. A compromise was reached with the horse tied in back, but after a few miles Jarrod found himself sorry he’d insisted. Heath was mostly silent and sullen. He offered a few bits of remembered detail – he’d spoken to the man at the railroad station before Audra disembarked, Meg had been carrying a bag from the dressmaker – but he was still very angry. After a while Jarrod gave up. He’d had unreasonable clients before and he’d have them again. He’d just have to let the process go forward on its own for a while.

Fred was standing outside his office and seemed to be waiting for them, not a good sign. He didn’t offer to shake hands. Instead, he had his deputy take the buggy and ushered Jarrod and Heath into his office.

“Guess you got in late last night,” Fred said to Heath as they sat down.

“That’s right. Charger went lame up at the North Ridge, I had to walk in.”   Heath was outwardly calm, but Jarrod could sense the tension. It was more than just the basic discomfort of the situation. He was holding something back.

Fred conducted a basic, businesslike interrogation, sticking to the chronology of the day before, taking down notes as he went. After they had finished going through Heath’s activities, Fred turned the conversation back to the argument that had been witnessed. Jarrod said: “Who is it says they saw this argument, Fred?”

“Craig Palmer, Kevin McMichael, and Mrs. Payson. They all saw or heard something.”

Jarrod’s heart sank a little. It was worrying that Fred had already spoken to three other people – that seemed to indicate a more serious investigation than he had been hoping for. He asked: “Do any of them say they saw Heath do anything to harm Miss Wilson?”

“No,” Fred said. “But somebody did. This wasn’t an accident, according to Dr. Merar.”

“What did he find?”

“All right, Jarrod. There’s two things. First off, she had some bruises, on her upper arms, like this,” Fred stood and walked over to Heath, leaned over him and gripped his arms, just below the shoulders. He stood there, waiting for a reaction, but Heath simply watched him calmly – then Fred’s eyes narrowed. “Looks like you had some trouble,” he said. Heath’s collar was open, and some of the scratches Jarrod had noticed earlier were visible. “You want to tell me about that?”

“Just some sticker bushes, Fred,” Jarrod said.

“Stickers?”

“That’s right,” Heath said.

The sheriff stood back. He paced to the stove and poured himself a cup of coffee. After a bit he began again: “Merar says it looks like finger marks, like someone with big hands grabbed her and held her. There were some other bruises, from yesterday, he says. Somebody beat her up pretty good before she went in the water.”

Heath looked sick. Jarrod said: “Two things – what’s the second?”

“Well – I don’t like to be the one to tell you this. Doc thinks she was going to have a baby.”

 _Oh, Christ._ Jarrod struggled to keep his face impassive. “Thinks? He’s not sure?”

“Sure as he can be, he says. Thinks she was about two-three months along.”

There was silence in the room for a minute. Jarrod looked over at his brother’s face, saw a look of anger on it. It was subtle, likely a man who knew him less well, Fred for example, wouldn’t be able to identify the emotion. But it was anger.

“People seem to think you might know something about that,” Fred said to Heath.

“People can think whatever they want,” Heath said, his voice toneless and cold. “And they will.”

“Was it yours?”

“No.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“I’m sure.”

Jarrod saw the pain of having to make the statement, and abruptly he understood. _I didn't have nothing to do with that. She says I did she's lying._ When they had told him Fred had been to the house, he’d thought it was about this. Of course this sort of thing would hit Heath hard, very hard; of course he wouldn’t want to talk to Jarrod – to anyone – about it.

“Do you know who the father was?”

“No.”

They continued for the best part of another half-hour. Heath seemed weary, almost uninterested. He shrugged or gave one-word answers, denying any knowledge of who had fathered Meg’s baby, who had beat her. It was apparent to Jarrod that Fred wasn’t going to arrest Heath, at least not right away, so after allowing the examination to continue for a reasonable time, he stood. “All right, Fred. Are we done?”

“I guess so, Jarrod. For now. Heath, I guess I don’t have to tell you, you’d better stick around for a while.”

“Come on Heath.”

Outside, Heath started immediately toward the horses, but Jarrod grabbed his arm. “My office,” he said firmly. Heath looked like he might resist, but something in Jarrod’s voice or face changed his mind. He sighed. “All right.”

*****

Heath sat on Jarrod’s sofa and dropped his head into his hands.

“I’m sorry,” Jarrod said, resting his hand on Heath’s shoulder briefly. “Does she have family we should contact?”

“No one. No one at all.” Heath sat back. “I wish this didn’t have to come out, about the baby,” he said. “Bad enough what people thought, without that too.”

“I’m afraid it probably will,” Jarrod said. “You knew, didn’t you? That’s what you argued about.”

Heath nodded slowly. “She told me, yesterday.”

Jarrod sat down behind his desk and eyed his brother closely. He understood why Heath hadn’t wanted to talk about it, how her death made it even worse. He said: “Let me guess. She was going to accuse you.”

“I don’t think she would’ve done it,” Heath said. “She was scared, Jarrod. I don’t think she really would’ve done it. She wasn’t…like that. If it came down to it, I don’t think she would’ve.”

“You don’t have any idea who the father was?”

“No. She never said a word to me, until yesterday.”

“Well, I can see why you didn’t want to tell me that, Heath. But it’s bound to come out. Is that all there was?”

“She wanted money. She said if I didn’t give it to her, she’d come to the house and make trouble. She said she’d tell everyone in town, and they’d believe her. No one would ever believe me, because–“. He cut himself off and shook his head angrily.

“Because of your father,” Jarrod said gently.

“That’s right.” Heath looked at Jarrod. “Because of _my_ father.”

“So you argued about it. You told her – what?”

“That I wasn’t giving her money. I said I’d try to help her, but I wouldn’t pay blackmail. If she lied, then I wouldn’t even do that much. Jarrod, I was pretty hot about it.”

“What did she say?”

“I don’t remember, I just got away from there.” Heath rubbed his face with his hands. “Does that have to come out too?”

“If it comes to an inquest, or God help us, a trial, then yes, it will.”

“Will it – come to that?”

“I suspect not. If Fred can’t find better evidence than he’s got, he’ll never refer it to the prosecutor.”

At last Jarrod felt he knew everything, and from a legal standpoint he was reassured some. There was little circumstantial evidence linking Heath to Meg’s death. There were facts that could still cause trouble – the worst was that he’d been alone for hours after bringing Audra to the house. But overall….

“There’s no evidence to find, Jarrod,” Heath said quietly.

“I know that, Heath,” Jarrod said. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I’m just relieved that it probably won’t require a hearing.”

“Probably?”

“It’s hard to say what Archer might do. But, for now, I think we’re through. I’ll do some asking around, see if anyone knows something you don’t. Are you going to be all right?”

Heath shrugged. He stood and went to the door, lingered a moment. “I’m sorry, Jarrod. I should’ve told you everything this morning. I was just hoping…that everyone didn’t have to know that about her. She’s dead. That’s enough.”

Jarrod nodded. “I’m sorry too, Heath. Now, what are you going to do?”

“Get the vet up to the ridge. I’ll see you at supper.”

*****

Victoria heard Jarrod out in silence. When he had finished she sat there a minute longer. “That poor girl,” she murmured. “The sheriff – does he believe Heath was involved?”

“I don’t think so. But of course, Fred is only one man.”

“Is there anything you can do?”

“Not unless there’s a charge. Unfortunately, any legal advice I could give Heath might do more harm than good.” At Victoria’s questioning look, he explained: “If Heath never is charged, he’ll never have an opportunity to clear his name in court. But he’ll be tried in the court of public opinion, and lawyerly defenses won’t help him there.”

Victoria sighed. Just a day ago she and Jarrod had been sitting at the dining room table, worrying for Heath if he married the girl. How insignificant such a problem seemed now! Meg had been pregnant, and she’d been murdered. And the town, lukewarm to Heath – at best – would almost certainly think he’d been responsible.

“Does she have family?” Victoria asked finally. “Someone to make arrangements? She came from Modesto, didn’t she?”

“Heath says there’s no one.”

“Well, she deserves a decent burial. If there’s no one else…”.

“That might give people ideas, Mother.”

“I can’t see how abandoning her at this time would be better.”

“I’ll ask Heath what he wants to do. I think we need to let him decide. Of course, Fred may very well find who did it, quickly. That will make things a little easier in town.”

“I wonder, Jarrod.” Victoria put down her sewing and gazed out the window. The sight of one of the hands leading a skittish horse toward the corral reminded her of something else. “Nick doesn’t know?”

“I haven’t told anyone.”

“Told anyone what?” Audra came into the parlor. “You’re home early Jarrod.”

“I think you’d better find him,” Victoria said. “Audra, why don’t you sit down and I’ll explain.”

But as it happened, Jarrod never caught up with Nick that afternoon. According to the men working in the stables, he’d gone with a fence crew to the south pasture. But when he got there he found that Nick had left an hour earlier to go on up to the north ridge. By that time Jarrod figured he’d just see Nick and Heath both at supper, so he went back to the house. As he rode off he heard a few muttered words and his back stiffened. Already, it had spread this far already.

*****

“He’s all right, Heath. Just needs to take it easy for a few days.” Hamilton, the vet, finished bandaging Charger’s leg and slowly stood up. He patted the big horse’s neck. “I’d leave him up here if you can. By the end of the week he’ll be fine to ride home.”

“Thanks.” It was a relief; ever since he’d lost his little Modoc, just weeks after his arrival in the valley, he’d been jumpy every time Charger so much as broke stride. He’d never lost a horse before and he was keenly aware of Charger’s value to the ranch. It had shocked him when Nick handed him the reins, he’d thought Nick was grooming Charger to replace Coco. That had been the first time he’d felt real acceptance coming from his brother and it had meant a lot. “Doc, could you use a little more coffee before you head back to town?”

“No, thank you, son. I’ll stop off at the ranch and have a look at that old pony of Audra’s.”

Heath saw the vet off and got Charger settled into the paddock. The shirt he’d used the night before to wrap the leg was ruined, he tossed it onto the campfire.

He’d have to come out every day, night and morning. Might be better to spend a night or two in the shack rather than go all the way back to the house. Nick wouldn’t like that. What would he think about the terrible business in town? Heath forced his mind away from that. He couldn’t stand to think about that.

But he couldn’t stop. He leaned against the fence and saw Meg’s white face and luminous dark eyes, threatening him in a voice that trembled. No, she hadn’t meant it. She’d been near hysterical. She wouldn’t have done it.

He thought about what it would have meant for him in town, what it would likely mean now. No one would have believed him, save for his family. Well, he wouldn’t marry her, and he wouldn’t give her money, not under threat. If she had just asked him for help, why didn’t she just ask him for help? Maybe she couldn’t. Maybe his stubborn pride forced her to try with someone else, someone who hurt her. Did he have to make such a point of not being forced? Why couldn’t he have seen how desperate she was? Couldn’t he have just gone along for a little while? So what if people in town got the wrong idea. What did that matter, compared with her life?

Angrily he brushed hot tears from his eyes. He hadn’t been in love with her, and maybe he hadn’t been fair. Maybe she’d truly loved him and he’d strung her along. Then he abandoned her when she most needed him.

He was so lost in grief and remorse, he didn’t hear Nick until he had almost reached the corral. It was only then he realized how late it had become – near 5:00 by the angle of the sun. Nothing productive done today, and the last thing he needed was a lecture from his big brother. Nick had two to choose from – he’d earned them both: I told you so, and, this is a working ranch.

But Nick’s face wasn’t angry, it was pained. He dismounted and put his hand on Heath’s shoulder. “You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine. Nick, I didn’t make it over to the ridge like I–“.

Nick waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. Fact is the rest of the crew didn’t either. We ran into some trouble, they should finish tonight and we can start fresh tomorrow. How’s Charger?”

“He’ll be fine, but Doc thinks he oughta stay up here this week.” For a minute they watched Coco and Charger snort at each other over the fence. Those two had started out actively hostile toward each other. Coco, longtime stud of the ranch, had resented the young stallion. But they’d made their peace and now worked alongside each other better than Nick had ever expected.

“She was going to have a baby,” Heath said.

Nick closed his eyes. “Christ.”

“Somebody…did that to her. Hurt her, killed her.”

Heath’s voice wavered just a bit, and Nick put his arm around his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Heath. Goddamn, I’m sorry.”

Heath dropped his head and shook it slowly. “I didn’t do right by her,” he muttered. He moved away, toward Otis tied to the rail at the shack. Nick watched him go, his brow wrinkling.

*****

Victoria looked around at her family, unnaturally quiet and somber. Even Nick seemed to have little appetite. Audra gamely talked of her trip, Jarrod shared the contents of Gene’s latest letter, and Victoria tried to discuss the upcoming mayoral election in Stockton, but neither Nick nor Heath could be nudged to more than an occasional grunt. Heath, in fact, took only a little bit of supper and barely pecked at it. Finally he excused himself, standing: “I’m sorry, I’m just worn out. Think I’m going to bed.” He walked to the head of the table and kissed Victoria, then Audra, on his way out.

When he had gone, they sat in silence for a while longer. “This is awful,” Audra said. “Poor Heath. Poor Meg!”

“Poor Meg,” Nick snorted.

“Nicholas!” Victoria snapped.

“I’m sorry, mother, but you don’t know–“.

“I _do_ know.”

“She does, Nick. So does Audra,” Jarrod said. “I take it Heath told you everything? Meg’s threats? The baby?”

“Yeah.” On the ride back to the ranch, Heath had told Nick about the meeting with the sheriff and the argument at the river. Nick had been careful not to pry, not to ask questions – rather to let Heath decide how much to tell him. What little he’d heard had about made him sick.

“I just can’t believe she would do that,” Audra said. “She really cared for Heath, I know she did.”

“Well, she was desperate. I imagine she couldn’t think of another way out,” Victoria mused. “Poor child.”

“But, to Heath, of all people. She must have known how much that would hurt him.”

“I doubt she was thinking at all,” Jarrod said. “If the doctor was right, she wouldn’t have been able to keep the baby a secret much longer. And, I’m afraid, it isn’t a secret. Nick, when I was at the south pasture this afternoon, I heard one of the hands say something.”

“Eh?” Nick looked up. “One of the hands? Say something – what?”

“About the baby. It’s already widely known, unfortunately.”

“Who was it?” There was a dangerous edge to Nick’s voice.

“I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter – they’re probably all talking about it, right now, out in the bunkhouse.”

“That’s just great!” Nick pushed away from the table and paced restlessly. “That’s all he needs.” Nick knew there were still pockets of resistance and malice among the hands. Heath insisted on handling problems with the men himself, so Nick wasn’t certain of the identities of the worst offenders. But he had suspicions.

“Well, there’s nothing we can do about it tonight,” Victoria said. “I think an early night is probably a good idea for us all.”

*****

On his way past Heath’s room, Nick noticed a sliver of light under the door. He hesitated, then knocked softly. There was no answer, so he pushed the door open carefully, in case Heath was sleeping.

He wasn’t sleeping, he was seated at the desk cleaning a gun. Not his regular piece either, but the big, lethal Colt Nick had only seen once or twice on the shelf of the wardrobe. “Thought you were tired,” he said.

Heath didn’t answer, just shrugged and kept on working.

“Why don’t you come over to my room, have a drink.”

“Don’t want a drink,” Heath said flatly. Something had changed, he was no longer numb. Now he was beginning to get angry. His voice was tight, his movements short and jerky.

“Well, I do, and I don’t like drinking alone. So put that thing away and let’s go.” Nick stood there with his hands on his hips and waited. Nobody, not even his brothers, out-stubborned Nick Barkley. Heath had to grin.

“Guess you’ll stand there all night if I don’t come, is that right?”

“No, that’s not right. I’ll give you, oh, about thirty more seconds. Then I’m going to have to use a little bit of _persuasion_ on you.”

“I’m getting mighty tired of people _persuading_ me to do things I don’t want to,” Heath said warningly.

“Looks to me you’re getting ready to do some persuading of your own.” Nick walked over to Heath and held out his hand. After a minute, Heath handed him the gun. It was heavy and warm from Heath’s hand. Nick admired it, then put it into the holster on the desk. “Come on, brother. I got a bottle I’ve been hiding from Jarrod.”

 

Nick slept uneasily, keeping an ear alert. Sure enough, sometime in the early hours, soft noises woke him. He lay there, half-asleep, trying to interpret the sounds from next door. When he heard the buckle of the holster he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

*****

“Going somewhere?” Nick whispered. Heath’s face was unreadable in the dark hallway. “Kinda early in the morning, even for you. Isn’t it?”

“Can’t sleep,” Heath said finally. The alcohol-induced relaxation of a few hours ago appeared to have left him entirely. He pushed past Nick and started down the stairs.

Nick followed. “All right, what say you and me get an early start on the day? Pack the wagon, get on out to the ridge by sunup.”

At the foot of the stairs Heath stopped. He said: “I got some things to do, I’ll catch up with you there later.”

“’Things to do’? What ‘things’ are we talking about?” Nick didn’t like the way Heath stood, the rigid posture.

“Reckon that’s my business,” Heath said.

Nick recognized the tone, he’d heard it a time or two and knew what it meant. Heath was enraged, and when enraged he lost his customary caution. A reckless Heath was dangerous, to himself and to them all.

“Now that’s where you’re wrong, little brother,” Nick said. “Your business is my business too. That’s the way it is in this family.”

“Keep your voice down!” Heath snapped. “You want to wake the whole house? And this is _none_ of your business, Nick.”

“Seems to me we already had this conversation a day or so ago. And I’m thinking you don’t know what you’re doing now anymore’n you did then.” He glanced pointedly at the gun strapped to Heath’s thigh. It was the Colt. “You got somebody in particular in mind for that?”

After a minute Heath said: “No.”

“But you got an idea.”

“An idea.”

“Then tell me!” Frustrated, Nick reached out and grabbed Heath by the arm. “What are you going to do, roust out of bed every man ever looked at her? Heath, there’s plenty of men in Stockton looked at her and more besides.”

“And one of ‘em killed her.”

“Let the law take care of that.”

“Would you?”

Nick sighed. “All right, maybe I’d go off half-cocked too. But that don’t mean it’s the right thing to do! Heath, it’s only been a day. At least give Fred a chance. If…if he hasn’t got somebody in jail by the end of the week, we’ll look together. I promise!”

Heath shook Nick’s hand off. “Don’t you understand? Nick, how hard is he going to look? You know how people talked about her, thought about her. They’ll think she got what she deserved.”

“Fred won’t let that change the way he does his job.”

“Won’t he? No matter who killed her, it’s gonna be somebody more important than Meg, because she was right on the bottom, as far as this town is concerned. You and I know it, and he does too.”

“Heath, maybe…maybe you got reason to think the people of this town won’t care too much about what happened to her. But Fred is a good lawman. He won’t look the other way no matter what.”

There was the sound of a door and footsteps from above. Nick and Heath froze.

“What’s going on?” It was Jarrod, dressed in a robe and slippers. He came down the stairs quickly. “Heath? Nick?”

“Nothing’s going on,” Nick said. “Me and Heath, we’re just getting an early start.”

Jarrod noticed the gun too, his eyes widened. He probably hadn’t seen it before but he surely knew what it meant. He looked straight at Heath. “An early start on what?”

“Those fences at the north ridge, they’ve waited longer’n they should’ve,” Nick said quickly. “And we’ll have to go by the line shack and see to Charger first. It’s a long day when you work for a living, counselor.”

“Uh huh.” Jarrod didn’t believe him, but something in Nick’s manner told him not to meddle.

“Come on, Heath, time’s a-wasting.” Nick had quickly pulled on his boots when he heard Heath stirring. Except for his coat he was ready to go – his hat and gun were on the table in the foyer. He grabbed them and hustled Heath toward the door.

When his brothers had gone Jarrod stood there a moment longer. There had been murderous fury in Heath’s eyes, but Nick could probably handle him. Well, he’d have to.

*****

It was a long day. A _very_ long day. Nick had it in mind to keep Heath so busy he wouldn’t have time to think about Meg, exhaust him so he’d sleep through the night. Last night had been the second in a row neither of them had slept much – Nick judged that if Heath felt anywhere near as tired as he himself did, he wouldn’t have the energy to cause serious trouble.

He hadn’t reckoned on the reaction of the hands. It started as soon as they arrived at the ridge. He and Heath had been there since near dawn, first unloading supplies then riding the length of the ridge to mark sections in need of repair. Due to a bad mudslide, a long stretch needed to be completely replaced. Nick set Heath to digging the first of the new postholes while he rode ahead to mark the new line of the fence. When he got back to Heath the crew had arrived. But no one was working.

 _Oh, hell._ Heath and Summers, a two-year man, were fighting – hard at it while the rest of the men stood around and watched. Nick was so far unnoticed so he waited until he got a feel for the action. Summers was a little shorter than Heath but probably outweighed him by thirty pounds – all of it hard muscle. Even so, normally Nick’s money would have been on his brother. But things were far from normal. Heath was tired and it showed, at least to Nick. He might lose this fight and Nick had to decide whether to interfere.

That choice was taken away. When it started to become obvious to the rest of the crew that Heath wasn’t his usual self, Marvas, a man Nick barely knew, waded in. He got in one good lick at Heath before Nick had seen enough. He fired his rifle into the air.

“What the hell is _this?”_ he roared.

Heath was on the ground, shaking his head. Nick dismounted and went to him, kneeling beside him. “You okay?”

“Fine, ‘s nothing, Nick.” Heath began to try and stand. Nick reached under his arms and pulled him to his feet.

Half-supporting him, Nick looked around at the crew. Most of them were staring at the ground, shamefaced. “Some reason why I should pay you for this morning’s work?” he demanded. “Summers, Marvas – see my brother back at the house and get your pay.”

“Nick,” Heath objected. He steadied himself and pushed away.

“You’re firing me?” Summers demanded. “For what? He started it.”

“He did, Mr. Barkley,” Marvas said.

“That so?” Nick turned to Heath. “What exactly _did_ happen here? Well?”

Heath’s lips tightened.

“We was just…congratulating him on his luck. Not every man’s lucky enough his woman and bastard get themselves drowned afore he’s got to do something about it. Hell, his own pa wasn’t that lucky.” Summers sneered at Heath, and Nick saw him through a field of red. He didn’t think he’d ever been so angry in his life. A strange calm settled over him.

”What did you say?”

“Come on, Ed,” Marvas said. “There’s no point hanging around here anymore.”

 _”What did you say?”_ Nick took a step forward, toward them, but Heath grabbed his arm to stop him.

“Nick, let it go.”

“Let it _go_?”

Heath had lost control of himself this morning and now he saw the same reaction in his brother. Nick had pulled him back – but Nick could kill either or both of those men. The thought of that sobered him instantly. “Let it go, Nick.” His voice was firm. “I can handle it.”

Looking around at the rest of the crew, Nick doubted it. “Anybody else got something to add?” he asked. “No? Then get to work.” He turned to Heath. “You come with me.”

*****

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I got nothing. Do I have to use a chapter summary?

As Jarrod tied Jingo to the railing outside his office he saw Fred Madden coming down the street. He watched him approach, trying to gauge his mood. “Morning, Fred.”

“Jarrod. Got a minute?”

“Of course, come in.” Jarrod ushered Madden inside. It was a good sign that Fred had come to him, at least he hoped so. They went into his inner office and Jarrod closed the door. “Is there news?”

“Well, some, Jarrod. We found this,” he handed Jarrod a thin volume.

“A diary. Miss Wilson’s?” He leafed through it, reading a sentence here and there. The first entry was dated about a year ago, the last was from Sunday. He read that entry in its entirety, then looked up. “This isn’t admissible, Fred. There’s no way to authenticate it.”

“I know, Jarrod. I just thought you’d better read it. I’m having a copy made.” He held out his hand.

“I’d like to keep it for a few hours and read it all.”

“I can’t let you do that, Jarrod. But I will let you have the copy as soon as it’s finished.”

Jarrod closed the diary and handed it back. “Anything else?”

“Doc said she had some cloth fibers under her fingernails. Thinks it was a workshirt, blue cotton most likely.”

“I see.” Jarrod looked at Fred. “What are you going to do?”

“Well, I’d like to see the shirt Heath was wearing on Monday. Folks saw him in town think it was blue.”

Jarrod tried to remember back, to that early morning in the kitchen. Heath had been wearing his jacket then. Upstairs, in the bedroom – when he’d taken it off, he’d been shirtless. His heart sank a little and he had to force his face to remain impassive.

Fred said: “I’m sorry about this. But it doesn’t look good, and I’ve got a duty to the citizens of Stockton, and that dead girl, to find out who killed her.”

“I know that. I’ll have a talk with Heath tonight. Have you found anything else? Witnesses?”

“The fact is, Jarrod,” Fred turned his hat around in his hands. “I don’t think I better discuss it with you.”

“All right, Fred. Have the copy of the diary sent out to the ranch as soon as you can, all right? And I’ll let you know about the shirt as soon as I talk to Heath.”

“Thanks.” As Fred stood at the door he shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry about all this. I truly am.”

“He didn’t kill her,” Jarrod said.

“I hope not, Jarrod, for all your sakes.”

Jarrod sat down at his desk, leaned back and closed his eyes. For a moment he forced himself to picture it, to imagine how to proceed if the worst had happened. Heath had fathered the child, he’d panicked. They fought, he lost control. She raked him with her nails, tearing the shirt and his skin. He ran into the hills, made up a story of briers, a lame horse….

No, it wasn’t possible. There were too many implausabilities. Audra said that Heath had been upset, remote. But if he’d just killed a woman, drowned her and his own child, he would have been considerably more than upset. The timing was all wrong, anyway. If you assumed Heath had done it, it would have to have been after he brought Audra back to the ranch. But no one said they’d seen Heath back in town later – or had Fred found a witness who said he had? Was that what Fred hadn’t wanted to tell him?

And this business with the shirt. Where was it? Why had Heath come back without it? Because he knew it would be evidence against him? No, that was impossible. That wasn’t the way Heath’s mind worked.

Except…except…. How certain could he be sure that he knew how Heath’s mind worked? They’d only known him for a few months after all. Jarrod’s livelihood depended in large part on his ability to read people. He thought he had a handle on Heath, but how could he be sure? He still surprised them. Was it possible?

No. Yesterday morning, when they told Heath about Meg’s death, he’d been genuinely shocked. No one could have faked that reaction. Heath was innocent, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t in serious trouble.

*****

“Here, let me do that.” Heath had squatted beside the creek and was trying to wipe the sticky blood from his nose with a wet bandana. Nick took it from him and forced his head back. "Looks like you need to stop leading with your face, little brother.”

Voice tightly controlled, Heath asked: “You planning on firing every man says something, Nick? That’s gonna leave us mighty short.”

“Any man says something like that, hell yes, I’m going to fire him.” Nick was still shaking with fury.

This morning Heath had felt just the same. He sat in his room and stewed, and thought about Meg’s last moments on earth, and the baby. He thought about Meg’s life before she ever came to Stockton, and how hard she had tried to change her life. The injustice of it had about set him on fire. Who had left her with a baby and so desperate she had tried to blackmail the only friend she had? He still didn’t know what he might have done – if he wasn’t lucky enough to have Nick to take care of him, and in typical Nick fashion. He grinned.

Nick growled: “What’s so funny?”

“You. Both of us, I guess. Just hope there never comes a time both of us need calmin’ down at the same time.”

“It’s not funny. I never heard an uglier thing come out of a man’s mouth.”

“I have,” Heath said quietly.

Nick stopped and looked into his brother’s eyes. “I suppose you have,” he said. “Heath – what’dya say we take the rest of the day off? I could use a long afternoon fishing.”

“Fences’ll still be there tomorrow. And the crew. Doesn’t do any good to put off facing it.” Heath stood up. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, Nick, it’s that you might as well get it over with. Whatever it is, it don’t get better by putting it off.”

*****

After supper Jarrod took Heath into his office and closed the door. Heath sat on the sofa and accepted the drink Jarrod handed him. “I’m sorry about what happened this morning, Heath,” Jarrod began. “I wasn’t here when Summers and Marvas came for their pay, McNally cashed them out and told me later.”

Heath shrugged. “Neither of ‘em was much of a worker, it’s just as well.”

“It’s inexcusable. Heath, if you’re still having trouble like that with any of the hands, they have to go. You know that Nick and I will back you completely.”

“I know that.”

“But?”

Heath swallowed some of the whiskey. “But you can’t fire every man who lets his mouth run on.”

“No, but it’s long past time that that sort of nonsense should have stopped. Anyone who is still a problem, I want him off this ranch. Heath, I know that you can take care of yourself. Nick does too. But neither of us wants to be paying wages to men who treat our brother like that.”

“All right, Jarrod.” Heath’s lips quirked in a half-smile. The more he came to know these new brothers, the more similarities he noticed between them. From the look in Jarrod’s eyes right now, Heath suspected for the first time the existence of a ferocity equal to Nick’s. He tossed back the rest of the drink and stood. “That it?”

“No. Heath, I had a visit from Fred Madden this afternoon.”

“Oh.” Heath sat. “Since you didn’t mention it at supper I reckon it’s not good news.”

“No, I’m afraid it isn’t.” Jarrod paused, eyed his brother. “Heath, yesterday morning, when I woke you up to go into town, you were wearing your jacket, but you didn’t have a shirt on. Where was your shirt?”

Heath had to think back. “I used it to wrap Charger’s leg, up at the line shack. Why?”

“It’s still up there?”

“Yeah. Oh – no. I burned it, I had to rip it up some and Charger chewed on it too.”

“You burned it?”

“Why is that important?”

“Because there were some scraps in Meg’s hands when they found her. From a blue work shirt.”

Heath stood and walked to the sideboard. He poured another drink and stood looking into the fire for a minute. “And?” he asked tonelessly.

“Heath, I don’t like this one bit better than you do. But this is what Fred sees: You had a relationship with this girl. You publicly argued with her hours before she was murdered. When she was murdered, you were alone – you have no alibi. She probably fought back, she had material in her hands from a torn shirt. You’ve scratches on your chest, and now you can’t produce the shirt.”

“I see. That all?”

“No, unfortunately. It appears that Meg kept a diary, did you know that?”

“A diary? No, I didn’t.”

“Fred is having a copy made, but he did show me the last entry. It was from Sunday, the day before she died. It seemed to identify you as the father of her baby, Heath.”

The logs crackled and settled, sending sparks shooting out onto the hearth. Other than that it was eerily silent. Heath shook his head slowly. “It’s not possible, Jarrod. I don’t know why she’d write a thing like that.”

“Well, I’ll want to read the whole thing, that may shed a different light on it.”

Heath winced. “Do you have to? She’s dead, don’t seem right to be…reading something like that now.”

“Fred will read it. It might be used as evidence against you, Heath, I have to know what it says. You may have to read it, too, at least some of it.”

“You thinking now it might go that far? A trial?” Wearily, Heath went back to the sofa and sat, holding the full glass of whiskey in his hand.

“I’m not sure,” Jarrod said. “I don’t think the diary can be admitted, whatever it says. But I wish you hadn’t burned the shirt.”

“That shirt was brown, Jarrod,” Heath said. “It wasn’t blue.”

“Oh? But, if it was burned, then we can’t prove it. And I’m confused about the scratches on your chest. You didn’t have your shirt, you’d left it on Charger’s leg. But you did have your coat. You got stuck in some briers – why is it your chest has scratches but not the coat?” That puzzling fact had nagged at Jarrod for most of a day, it wasn’t until Nick and Heath came in from the barn that night that he realized what had been bothering him.

Heath said: “I took the coat off and held it over my head, didn’t want it to get ruined. It’s the one Mother gave me for my birthday – I never had anything like that good before. Hated to see it get all scratched up.”

“But that’s what it’s for, to protect you. No matter how nice the coat, better it get scratched than you do.”

“My hide will heal – that jacket won’t.”

“But you could always replace it.”

“Sure, I could get another coat, but it wouldn’t be the one she gave me.”

“Heath, don’t you think Mother would rather you had used it to protect yourself? You know she’d rather ten coats were ruined than you got hurt.”

“Well, I didn’t get hurt much, Jarrod. And…”. he trailed off. When he continued, his voice was very low. “Most of my life, I couldn’t just go out and get another coat. Guess it wouldn’t be easy to see that fine expensive coat get ruined, ‘specially since she gave it to me.”

“I see,” Jarrod sighed. Of course, it wouldn’t be easy. For most of his life, Heath had had to make those kind of decisions – to weigh the value of a coat against injury to his own body. That kind of training would be terribly hard to break. “There’s another thing, Heath.” Jarrod could see the utter weariness in his brother’s face and he hated to press, but it had to be decided, and soon. “Do you want – or want us – to do anything about a funeral?”

Heath rubbed his hands across his eyes. “A funeral?”

“I spoke to Reverend Wolfe. He’s willing to perform a service on Friday and bury her in the churchyard.” Jarrod added gently, “It’s not your responsibility to do anything, Heath, but Mother and I thought you might want to, for the sake of your friendship with her. But it’s up to you.”

“What happens if I don’t?”

“There’s another graveyard in town, for indigents – for people with no money or family.”

“I know what the word means, Jarrod, I heard it enough times in my life,” Heath said sharply.

  
Jarrod winced. He came out from behind his desk and sat on the table before the couch. “I’m not trying to patronize you, Heath,” he said. “I’m sorry it’s coming out that way. There’re a lot of things to think about right now; I know you don’t need another one.”

“She shouldn’t be buried that way,” Heath said at length. From the faraway look in his eyes, Jarrod guessed he was remembering another burial.

“Shall I speak to the Reverend?”

“I can do that.” Heath said. “Jarrod – what’s going to happen, if you can’t prove anything about that shirt?”

“I still don’t think there’s enough evidence for a successful prosecution; I doubt Archer will bring a case he’s almost certain to lose.”

“Almost?”

“Nothing’s certain in the law, Heath.” Jarrod gripped his shoulder. “Try not to worry, and get some sleep. That’s the best thing you can do tonight.”

When Heath had gone, Jarrod sat by himself in his office for a while longer. When he was ready to call it a night, he found that the rest of the family, except Audra, had already gone upstairs. She was putting out the lights and checking the front door as he walked through the foyer.

“Oh, Jarrod! I didn’t know you were still up.”

“Only for a minute.” He stopped, with one foot on the stair.

“What?” Audra asked. “Jarrod?”

“Audra, I want you to do something for me, all right?”

“Of course. What is it?”

Jarrod held out his hand for Audra. She came to him and he sat her down on the stair. “I want you to close your eyes. Now, think back to the day Heath picked you up in town. The train was late. When you got into the station Heath was waiting. Can you remember exactly how it was?”

“Yes.”

“I want you to picture that moment, the moment you first saw Heath.”

“All right, Jarrod, but what is this about?”

“Just picture Heath, as you saw him. Now, can you tell me what he’s wearing?”

“Work clothes, I think.”

“Describe them.”

“I can’t remember, Jarrod.” Audra opened her eyes and looked at him. “Why?”

“Just try and tell me about the shirt he’s wearing. Do you remember it?”

“I’m not sure.”

“What color is it?”

Audra shook her head. “I – “. Something stopped her, a noise upstairs. They both looked up.

Heath stood at the top of the stairs, a towel across his shoulder. Jarrod took one step up, but Heath turned and stalked into his room, closing the door firmly.

*****

Jarrod knocked lightly on the door. "Heath? Can I come in?"

After a moment came Heath's quiet voice: "It's late. Goodnight, Jarrod."

"I think you may have misunderstood what you heard downstairs. I'd like to explain."

He heard rustling and then soft footsteps. The door opened, Heath stood there bare-chested, his face set. "You don't have to explain. Like I said, I appreciate everything you're trying to do. Now I'm tired and I'd like to get to sleep. All right?"

"All right, Heath. But in the morning- ".

"In the morning." Heath shut the door, and a breath later the light showing a thin line beneath it vanished.

In the morning, Heath was long gone before Jarrod roused.

*****

Jarrod spent his morning tracking down Dr. Hamilton, finally locating him on the MacIntosh ranch tending a bull. The old vet was able to confirm that Charger had suffered a minor strain but couldn't hazard a guess as to when it had happened. He also remembered that Heath had it wrapped with cloth. He had no memory of what it had been or what color, other than he didn't think it had been white. With some gentle prompting, he allowed as how it might have been a torn shirt.

After that Jarrod returned to Stockton and checked in with the sheriff. The diary was being copied by his deputy, he thought he might have it for Jarrod by the end of the day. He had no other news. Phil Archer was out; Jarrod left a note asking for a meeting.

Fred Madden had said he'd spoken to three people who witnessed the argument between Heath and Meg - Craig Palmer, Kevin McMichael, and Olive Payson. Rather than interview them himself, Jarrod decided to send to San Francisco for Alvin Perkins, a law clerk in his office. He wasn't sure that any of the witnesses would speak freely to him, knowing he was Heath's brother, but he had to know exactly what they had seen and what they might have to say. Perkins could also do some asking around at the saloon and other places Meg had worked to try and discover if anyone knew about another man.

He returned to his office mid-afternoon to put in a couple of hours of other work and wait for the diary. There was a message waiting: Madden expected the copy would be finished late in the day and would send the deputy out to the ranch with it as soon as he was done. Jarrod tried to work on a contract draft for a San Francisco client but, unable to concentrate, gave up and headed home around 4:00 p.m.

*****

Nick organized the work differently, sending most of the crew with McNally to finish work on the new fences while he, Heath and a couple of hands rode up into the foothills to check on the water situation, the berms. It had been a dry winter and likely they'd run short in high summer, best to know what they were facing. It made for a long day, particularly since they'd left the house very early to check on Charger.

They split at noon, Nick and Heath going north and the other two men east. As they traveled single-file up the trail, Nick watched his brother's rigid back. After a while he called ahead: "You gonna tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"What it is got you so talkative this morning."

Heath shrugged.

When the trail widened Nick spurred Coco up beside Otis, reached over and grabbed the reins. "I think we'll stop here."

"It's only another hour to the lake," Heath pointed out.

"Well I'm hungry now."

"Fine." Heath dismounted and looked around for a flat spot to tether the horses while Nick rummaged in his saddlebags for the food. They built a campfire to boil water for coffee and settled under the shade of a cedar tree.

Heath was even quieter today than his norm and Nick noticed he had his regular gun with him. It was nearly the end of the week and he hadn't brought up the idea of going after Meg's killer, like he'd been ready to do a couple of days earlier. It was good, better he didn't go off on his own and get into trouble, but it was worrying to Nick because now he seemed almost indifferent. There ought to be something in between, he thought. He remained bewildered by everything that had happened and Heath's reactions.

What had been the relationship between Meg and Heath? He hadn't ever said. Nick cleared his throat. "Heath...".

"Yeah?"

"You know, I...I still don't get it."

"Get what?" Heath had laid down with his hat over his eyes, now he sat up and reached for his cup, drained the last of the lukewarm coffee.

"Well, damnit, Heath, this business with Meg Wilson. Did you love her?"

His brother was silent, and Nick wished he hadn't asked. "It's none of my business," he muttered.

"No," Heath said. "It's all right." He sighed. "I wasn't. Mostly I felt sorry for her."

"Why?"

"While back I was working on a spread couple miles out of Modesto. She worked in the saloon there, she remembered me."

"You remember her?"

"No," Heath said quietly. "Some I might've - but not her. In those days we were pretty much the same, Nick, just getting by. No plans, no future.... She came here because she wanted something different, and I reckon I did the same. Difference is, I found all of you, and all she found was me. She saw...she saw things had changed for me, and she thought they could for her." He stared moodily down into the valley. "But they never did, did they?"

"How hard did she really try?" Nick asked gently. He knew that Meg had worked sporadically as a waitress, and in other jobs, but mostly she'd been in the saloon since coming to town. Before Heath had started keeping company with her, he hadn't thought there was anything unusual about her at all.

"It don't matter," Heath said. "Unless she found another Barkley family willing to stand up for her, nothing was ever going to change."

"Oh." The brothers were silent for a long moment, while Nick thought about what Heath had told him. "You think that if it weren't for us, standing up for you, it'd be the same for you."

"I know it would."

"It's still bad in town?"

"Nothing I can't handle."

"As bad as yesterday?" Nick asked, wincing.

Heath said: "You can't change the way people think about you. It don't matter what you do, they're going to think what they want. Meg was...she was trying, Nick, she was."

"She was trying to blackmail you, brother. Don't forget that," Nick said.

"No, I don't reckon I can forget that."

"Why'd you spend so much time with her, then, if you weren't in love with her?" Nick asked. "Hell, we all figured you were getting ready to marry her, Heath."

Heath was silent for a long time, so long that Nick began to think he wouldn't answer. Finally, very softly, Heath explained: "When she was with me, it was different for her, in town. Seemed to me, people'd get used to see her like that. Maybe it'd help, if people got used to seeing her as something besides a saloon girl. But I shoulda known better."

"What?"

"There ain't enough respectability in me to rub off on anyone else, Nick. All I got is what's rubbed off on me from you, and your mother, and the family." Heath's voice was low and rough.

"Now wait just a minute!" Nick grabbed hold of Heath's arm. "What exactly is it you mean by that?"

"Just what I said, Nick. If I'd thought about it, I woulda known - it wouldn't do anybody any good in Stockton to be seen with me."

"Oh, for-. Heath...". Nick trailed off, suddenly at a loss, because he had a sick feeling Heath was right. The situation with the Montero family, still raw, was proof of it. Despite his use of the Barkley name, and unreserved acceptance by the Barkley family, Heath was still not considered a Barkley by the people in Stockton. He was still openly referred to as the 'itch in Tom Barkley's pants', the 'old man's mistake', and worse. The incident yesterday showed that even men who owed their livelihood to the Barkleys would behave that way, and in front of Nick. It made him wonder how much of it still went on that he didn't know anything about.

"We should get going," Heath said. He stood up and brushed the dirt from his trousers.

"It'll change," Nick said. "I know it will, Heath. Just give it time."

"Maybe," Heath said, noncommittal.

Hours later as they rode down the hillside in the gathering shadows, Heath pulled up at a fork in the trail. "I'm gonna spend the night at the line shack," he told Nick.

"Oh?"

"It's a long way to come back tomorrow to check on Charger. I'll bring him down to the ranch in the morning."

"All right." Nick jerked the reins and turned Coco.

"Where're you going?" Heath asked.

"With you."

Heath shook his head. "You'd better get back and let the rest of 'em know."

Nick thought about it. He was less afraid now Heath might take it into his head to go into town, but he didn't like the idea of leaving him alone in his present mood. On the other hand, most likely the family _would_ worry, and Jarrod might even feel the need to come out looking. The shadows were already lengthening, there was no time to find one of the hands in order to send word before full dark. Nick eyed his brother. "You don't have anything else in mind, do you?"

"Nick, the only thing I've got in mind is a good night's sleep."

"Sure?"

"I'm sure."

"All right, tomorrow I figure we'll get to work on that mesquite on the old Pickering farm. If we're gone when you get in you can meet us there."

All the way down the hillside Nick engaged in an internal debate - should he go back? He was on the point of turning around several times, but finally decided to let Heath spend the night alone. When he was troubled, Heath preferred to be by himself to think things through. Nick was himself the same way. He knew they hadn't really given him the chance to be alone since that first morning. Maybe he could find some peace by himself.

Nick reached the ranch from the north as another rider entered from the main gate, and as Jarrod came out of the house. The three converged in the ranch yard and the rider dismounted.

"Jarrod Barkley?"

"I'm Jarrod Barkley."

"I'm Deputy Hank Lewis. Glad to meet you, sir."

"Likewise, Deputy." The man was young and eager-looking and now that Nick had a good look, he realized he had seen him around town. He got down from Coco and shook hands.

"I'm Nick Barkley. What can we do for you?"

"Sheriff Madden sent this." Lewis handed Jarrod a sheaf of papers rolled and tied with a string.

"What's that?" Nick asked.

"Margaret Wilson's diary. Well, a copy," the deputy said. "Hope you can read my writing, Mr. Barkley."

"A diary!" Nick turned on Jarrod. "You knew about this?"

"Sheriff Madden showed it to me yesterday."

"That's just great. I suppose Heath's in there?"

"Where is Heath?" Jarrod asked. He looked behind Nick, at the barn. "Didn't he come back with you?"

"No, he's staying up at the line shack."

"Well," the deputy remounted. "Guess I'll be getting back to the missus."

"Thanks for coming out here tonight, Deputy." Jarrod tucked the papers into his vest and reached up to shake hands. "Can I get you anything for the ride?"

"No sir, my pleasure Mr. Barkley, Mr. Barkley." Nodding, the deputy rode off.

When he had gone Nick turned on Jarrod. "Does Heath know about this?"

"Yes, I told him last night. He didn't mention it to you?"

"No." Nick looked up at the distant hill, regretting deeply his decision not to stay with his brother. "What's in it?"

"I haven't read the whole thing, Nick, I can't-".

Nick waved his hands impatiently. "Just tell me whatever it is you told Heath. Damnit, I knew there was something!"

"Like I said, I haven't gone through it all. The only entry I read was the last one, from last Sunday. Nick, she says that Heath was the father of the baby."

It was a blow; Nick stubbornly shook it off. He directed his frustration toward his older brother. "What else haven't you told me, Jarrod?"

"Come in the house, Nick." Ciego had approached and Jarrod nodded to him at Coco. "Let's talk about it inside."

*****

Jarrod read very slowly. He always had. As boys it had driven him crazy. They shared books and Jarrod always got them first, leaving his little brother to steam as he waited. Of course, Jarrod approached the process differently, he often looked up from the text to think about what he had just read, while Nick raced through. This night Jarrod spent a long time going through the diary, frequently stopping to rub his forehead, to sigh, to lean back in his chair and close his eyes. He made notes as he went on a separate tablet. Nick read a few pages, including the last one, and that was enough. He paced the length of the office, tossing back glass after glass of Jarrod's good whiskey.

Finally, Jarrod picked the papers up and carefully aligned their edges, setting them down deliberately on the corner of his desk. He steepled his fingers and looked over them, into space. "Well?" Nick asked roughly.

"It's bad," Jarrod said. "Very bad."

"Bad. How?"

"Well, she clearly identifies Heath as the father of the baby, and writes of her plan to force him to marry her. She also says he...got rough with her."

"Oh, that's ridiculous!" Nick stomped to the desk and planted his hands on the wood. "You know that's ridiculous, Jarrod!"

"It's hard to imagine any reason she'd lie, in a diary, Nick. What would be the point?"

"Well, it's nonsense. Heath'd _never_ hurt a woman."

"No, I don't believe that he would, either." Jarrod went to the sideboard and poured himself a very large drink. "Of course, it's doubtful it could be admitted in a trial. Meg isn't here to authenticate it. It's possible Phil Archer may find someone to testify they saw her writing it, but it would be a very hard thing to prove."

"So what does it mean?"

Jarrod shrugged. "We're going to have to wait and see what Fred and Phil decide to do. Phil's a damn good attorney, it may be - likely will be - that he'll recognize it can't be admitted and he won't even try. In that case, it doesn't mean much of anything."

Nick shook his head. "This is all wrong, Jarrod."

"Well, tomorrow Heath can read it and give us his opinion."

"Does he have to? I mean, you say they may not even use it in a trial. Why can't we just forget about it, for now, anyway?"

"Because I need his input. These incidents she describes, if he can tell me what happened, from his perspective, it may shed some light on the rest of it."

Nick went to bed frustrated and angry. It was hours before he could sleep, and then only fitfully, waking before dawn. He wrote out the day's work for McNally and saddled Coco, deciding to ride up to the line shack and meet Heath. He packed fishing gear and a day's provisions. Heath had had his night alone to think, now he was going to have a day off to rest.

But as the sun rose high, there came the sounds of horses in the yard. It was Sheriff Madden, with bad news. The diary had been stolen from his office, and he had come to retrieve Jarrod's copy.

*****

“When did this happen?” Jarrod sat at his desk and tried to keep his face impassive.

“About 9:00 o’clock. I was just coming in from my rounds, found Hank with a lump on his head, and the diary gone. He says whoever it was hit him from behind, he never saw him. Would’ve happened about sometime between 8:30 and 9:00, thereabouts.”

“Anything else taken? Guns?”

“Nothing, just that diary.”

“Did you have it locked up?”

“No, Hank was working on another copy. Jarrod, you can see my position.”

“Why don’t you tell me your position.” Jarrod sat back and looked thoughtfully at Fred, at his deputy Billy Norris, and at his own brother Nick, who was standing by the window and staring out at the ranch yard and corrals just beginning to show activity. He’d only had a minute to talk to Nick, when he’d come to wake him – the second time this week – and almost no time to prepare a response.

Madden was uncomfortable, but resolute: “Jarrod, so far that diary is the only way we have to hear what that girl did and thought in the last days of her life. Seems somebody doesn’t want it read – and we both know that the person mentioned the most in it is Heath. Now, I don’t see Heath around here, and I hear he spent the night somewheres else, is that right?”

“At the line shack,” Jarrod said.

“Alone?”

“I’m afraid so. Nick, what time did you leave Heath?”

“I don’t know,” Nick said gruffly. “It was getting on to dark.”

“So maybe, five? Six?”

“Might’ve been,” Nick agreed grudgingly.

“Well, you see, sheriff – that shack’s a good four hours from town. Heath wouldn’t have had time.”

Madden looked closely at Nick. “You willing to swear by that? Six o’clock?”

Irritated, Nick snapped: “I didn’t say six – I don’t know what time it was. I left him when it was starting to get dark. Might’ve been six, might have been earlier. Probably was, since I was back here to the house before it was full dark. Your deputy, he was here when I rode in, he probably knows what time it was. Why don’t you ask him?”

“I’ll do that, soon as Doc says he’s up to questions.”

“Is he hurt badly?” Jarrod asked.

“No, just a little woozy, I’m sure he’ll be fine soon’s he has a good night’s sleep without Doc poking him every hour. Now,” he turned to Jarrod. “I need that copy, Jarrod. I’ll have another made for you, but I can’t let it be out of my hands. You can see that.”

“Wasn’t safe with you last night!” Nick snorted.

“I’ll let you have it, Fred, but I want _this_ copy back.” Jarrod had the pages on the desk in front of him; he dipped his pen in ink and began signing each page in the bottom right-hand corner. “There are some discrepancies between my memory of what I read in the original, and what’s written here.”

“Eh?” Nick strode to the desk. “Discrepancies? Now just what do you mean by that?”

“What kind of discrepancies?” Fred asked.

“I was hoping to compare the two, but apparently that won’t be possible now. I want to think about it, Fred, before I say.” As he continued marking the pages, Jarrod said conversationally: “You’ve talked to Phil Archer about this.”

“I have.”

“And he agrees with me, that it’s not admissible. The original might conceivably have been, if you could have found someone who knew Miss Wilson kept a diary, saw her writing in it. But this copy, it’s completely inadmissible.”

Madden nodded slowly. “He agrees. He can’t use it in a trial. But that don’t mean it can’t help us try and figure out what happened.”

Jarrod finished signing the last page and blotted it. Nick started to speak, but Jarrod shot him a look and he quieted. “Fred, the rule of law says that if the item isn’t admissible, then evidence discovered because of the item isn’t admissible either.”

“Jarrod, I want to find out who killed that girl. You think Heath didn’t have anything to do with it, and I hope you’re right. But I’d like to think that you want to know just as much as I do.”

“I do, Fred. But I’m also my brother’s attorney, and I would be remiss in that responsibility if I didn’t do everything I could, within the law, to defend his rights.”

Nodding, Madden held out his hand and accepted the papers Jarrod handed him. “I’ll want to talk to Heath – he’ll be here tonight?”

“I’ll see that he is.” Jarrod stood. “We’ve arranged for a memorial tomorrow, at 11:00 a.m., in the churchyard. I hope you can be there.”

“I sure will. Jarrod, Nick, I can show us out.” Madden and his deputy left, and Nick closed the door.

“’Discrepancies’?” he asked again, skeptically.

“I’m going to have to think about it, Nick, and look at my notes.” Jarrod shook his head. “I only read part of the original, here and there, and the last entry – I know there were some differences in that, though maybe nothing substantive. I need to think about it.” He looked at the clock on the mantle. “When do you expect Heath in this morning?”

Nick shrugged. “Depends on Charger, Heath won’t push him. But I’ll bet he left soon as it got light, so he should be here in the next hour or so.”

“Then I suggest we get some breakfast.”

Jarrod seemed much more optimistic than he had first thing in the morning, when Nick had given him the bad news. He even grinned a little and clapped Nick on the shoulder as they walked into the foyer.

“I don’t see that we heard anything good,” Nick said. “How come you’re so chipper?”

“Two things. First, Fred said he’d come here tonight, he didn’t ask that I bring Heath to town. That, brother Nick, says a lot. Second, he and Phil Archer have talked, and Archer agrees with me -- _and_ he hasn’t contacted me. I left him a message asking to talk, and he hasn’t answered. If he thought he had any kind of a case, knowing Phil, he’d be…ah… _willing_ to tell me about it.”

*****

Heath rode in just before 9:00 a.m., Charger on a lead tied to Otis’ saddlehorn. Nick was waiting in the stable. “He looks good,” he commented, watching as Heath first saw to Otis, brushing him down and giving him a measure of hay, then turned more careful attention to the big stallion.

“Yeah, I think he’s fine. But I’ll let him spend a couple days ‘round the house, before I take him out and work him. How come you’re still here?”

“Well, I had it in mind that you and me were going to take the day off.” Nick nodded at Coco and the fishing rods packed into the rifleguard.

“Oh?” Heath lifted each of Charger’s hooves and ran his hand over the leg. “It seems to me I’ve heard tell this here’s a working ranch.”

“Well now, that’s so, it is. But there’s gotta be some benefit to being the boss, don’t you think? Unless of course, you got some kinda special attachment to pulling mesquite?” Nick realized that since Heath’s arrival, he had been driving pretty hard – well, it was that time of year. And, at first, he’d been testing him, trying to see what he was made of. Once he knew that, once he’d come to accept and value this new brother, then he’d finally felt able to tackle some of the projects he’d never been able to get to since his father’s death. Another Barkley as committed and hardworking, it made all the difference. But it didn’t leave much free time. Except for the occasional buggy ride of a Sunday with Audra or Mother, they hadn’t taken any time to just enjoy owning the biggest spread in the San Joaquin Valley. They hadn’t spent hardly any time, just the two of them, except in backbreaking work. With Jarrod and Eugene it was different; in the whole of their lives they’d had plenty of time together, they all knew this time of year it was hard for Nick to get away. But Heath didn’t have that perspective, he’d never seen Nick slack off, even for a day. He probably figured that Nick never did. “Whaddya say, Heath – I predict there’ll be plenty of mesquite left for us tomorrow.”

“You reckon?” Heath grinned that slow grin.

“I reckon.” It was a relief to see it, it hadn’t been much in evidence this week. Nick hated to spoil it. “Before we go, though, Heath, you need to go in the house and talk to Jarrod. Get some breakfast, too, Silas said he’d keep something warm for you.” Nick shook his head sorrowfully. “It pains me to see the way that man spoils you. Come roundup, you’re gonna turn your nose up at the chuck.” He held out his hand. “I’ll finish that.”

As he handed the brush to Nick, Heath said: “Silas’s happy to have someone to cook for that appreciates good food,” Heath said. “Anybody can fry up a steak. Takes a real artist, now, to make a meal of bullfrog.” He was around the corner as he spoke the words and missed Nick’s grimace. But he was still grinning as he walked into the house.

*****

Saturday was a half day for the crews, they got their pay at noon and weren’t required to report for work again until Monday morning. Nick generally kept them close to the house Saturday morning so as to limit the time they had to spend riding back. Because of the funeral, he put McNally in charge and rode with the rest of the family in the wagon into town around 10:00, Coco and Charger tied behind. Nick and Heath generally finished out the day on Saturday with chores around the house and grounds, but today they meant to stay in town.

“It’s so sad,” Audra said. She was sitting on the front seat with Heath, leaning against him and holding his arm. “Meg wasn’t much older than I am, was she, Heath?”

“No, sis, just a couple years.”

“So sad.” Audra was wearing a black skirt and short jacket with a white blouse. All of them, Heath noticed, were wearing appropriate clothes for a funeral. In the months since he’d arrived, new clothes hadn’t been a priority. He’d ridden onto the ranch with two sets of working clothes, one extra shirt and that was it. At Victoria’s insistence he’d been fitted for a fancy suit, and he already had a good one, but it wasn’t black and it wasn’t right for the occasion. Besides, if he and Nick ended up in the saloon, he didn’t think he was prepared for the ribbing he’d have to take, bringing that thing in there. The Cattlemen’s was one thing, the saloon another. So he’d borrowed a pair of black trousers from Jarrod, which were too short and loose, a white shirt from Nick, and one of Gene’s old ties. _Wasn’t right to put poor Meg in the ground all in a mish-mash_ , he thought. But it was just one thing of many that felt wrong to him, this day.

He thought back to his mother’s funeral, just a handful of months ago. He’d dug the grave himself, the soil hard as stone and the sun blazing down – drops of sweat falling from his body mixing with the swirling dust to leave dark blots on the parched ground. Funny, he remembered the digging of the grave better than the service itself. Of course, there was no minister left in Strawberry and those within a day’s ride refused to come. So Hannah had spoken her piece, then Rachel. None of her own kin, not Heath nor Matt nor Martha, had spoken up for her; Heath too sunk in grief and wretchedness, the Simmonses too indifferent. Or at least it had seemed that way to him. Would anyone speak for Meg? His own feelings were too mixed up. Being a Saturday, likely none of the other girls from the saloon would even come.

There was talk from the back of the wagon, he caught a word or two. Nick was trying to explain to Jarrod why they were loaning Prince Oxford out to stud while manfully keeping the conversation clean for the benefit of the women. Victoria, in a playful mood, kept asking for clarification. Heath could feel Audra beside him shiver with suppressed giggles. “You think that’s funny, do you?” he whispered.

“Mother’s lived on a ranch for more than thirty years, and I grew up on one, so I don’t know why he thinks it’s such a mystery,” she whispered back.

It was a pleasant drive. Heath pulled up in front of Jarrod’s office so the women could freshen up a bit, and he and Jarrod had a quick smoke, then they all walked to the churchyard to meet Reverend Wolfe. There were just a few other mourners, among them Perkins, the man from Jarrod’s office, Fred Madden, Phil Archer, and one of the bartenders from the saloon. He gave Heath a sour look, but it was a relief to see him. Maybe he’d have something to say.

Wolfe waited until a few minutes after 11:00, hoping for more to arrive, but finally opened his prayer book and began. There was no stone yet. The one Heath had bought would be ready in another day or so; he wondered again if he’d done right to exclude the child – the inscription named only Meg. It made it seem like the child had never existed at all, it gave him a powerful twinge.

He thought on his talk with Jarrod the day before, their brief meeting with the Sheriff. It had been strange, perfunctory. They’d gone over his movements from Thursday, trying to pin down times and locations. He had been shocked to hear about the assault on the deputy. But, by the time Madden had come out to the ranch that evening, he was able to report Lewis recovered and back on duty. Heath explained about the shirt, how he had used it on Charger’s leg and later burned it. Madden listened and seemed to believe him. That was it. Madden shook hands with both Jarrod and Heath when he left, which seemed to mean something to Jarrod.

Jarrod told him that he was pretty sure the prosecutor wouldn’t pursue a case against Heath unless other evidence turned up. He said he was going to talk to Phil Archer today. He also told Heath about Perkins asking questions around town. Heath tried to feel grateful.

Jarrod didn’t understand, probably never would. He seemed to think that a law case was somehow separate from the events it was about. For example, Korby Kyles. Now, Jarrod had the grace to be embarrassed about that, it was true. But in a way, he was doing the same thing again. He seemed pleased that Meg’s diary couldn’t be used in trial, that it was ‘unlikely’ Heath could have made it to town by 8:30, that no additional evidence had been found. Heath didn’t find any of those things particularly pleasing. It would be a relief if, as Jarrod thought, he didn’t have to face a trial. But what difference did it really make? Meg was still dead, the baby was still dead.

As he stood there in the hot churchyard, he thought back on the hours he’d spent the day before with Nick, fishing. Nick had told a few stories of boyhood fishing trips with his brothers, chuckling as he recalled once jerking too hard on the line and sending a trout skittering back onto the shore where it was pounced upon by a waiting cat. The tug-of-war ended when the line broke and the cat ran off into the woods with the fish, so big and fat it hung down on either side of her mouth, the line trailing after her.

His own fishing experiences had been some different. On the big commercial boat, that had been nothing but cold, miserable, brutally hard work. His only adult memories of a more pleasurable kind of fishing were those of raking smelt. He remembered summer nights, up in the far north where the half-light lingered, standing knee-deep in coastal waters at high tide. Dipping the net into the black water, aiming at the hissing sound of boiling water as the fish swarmed in, then out, then in again, hundreds or thousands of them slipping past his bare legs. Throwing them live and wriggling, no longer than his finger, onto the packed sand where they flopped and gasped their last. When the school passed, or the tide receded, he rinsed handfuls of the fish then dusted them with corn flour and laid them into a fry pan snapping with butter over a low campfire. He sat on the beach and ate them hot and whole; eye, fin, tiny bones. He’d never had anything so good in his life before. Nick, of course, had never raked smelt, never had much to do with saltwater fish. Heath knew himself incapable of expressing in words the feeling of peace he remembered from those evenings, the happiness that had been fleeting for him then; so he hadn’t tried. Sometimes he was afraid he’d never be able to share those things with his new family. Sometimes he was sure of it.

There were so many differences between them. Some were small, like fish and funeral clothes. But there were big differences too. For example, the glare he was getting right now from the bartender. Heath stared back, and after a minute the man resentfully dropped his eyes.

Jarrod and Victoria stood together. She looked sad and weary, staring into the open grave. Jarrod’s expression was unreadable to Heath, as usual. Nick and Audra both kept darting worried glances toward him. He had no reassurance to give.

How, _how_ could he have changed things? What could he have done differently? What _should_ he have done? Oh, but he’d been unjust. He knew his furious reaction had been driven by his own boyhood experience, and that wasn’t Meg’s fault. How many times had his past influenced his present behavior? How many more times would it happen? What about all the times it rose up in him, ugly and dark, and came out at Nick, at Victoria? When would it ever change?

He felt Audra’s hand on his and he came back to himself. The service was ending. No one had spoken for Meg. Even if he had wanted to he’d missed his chance. He muttered the prayer with the rest of them then put on his hat.

*****

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yup, that flashback just as awkward as I remember it being. I think at the time I didn't want to throw in a Victoria/Audra POV, since it would be the only one.

Victoria walked in front, with Heath, their arms linked. Even though he stooped a bit so as to not tower over her, the top of her hat barely came to his shoulder. Nick and Audra were next, more of a height. Jarrod came last with Fred Madden. He hadn’t expected the sheriff to follow them back to his office, but he’d taken Jarrod aside and asked for a word.

As they rounded the corner Heath lifted his hat to acknowledge a pair of approaching middle-aged women. One of them said something, Jarrod couldn’t hear, but whatever it was stopped Heath cold. He stood there, hat half-raised, frozen. The other woman spoke, and then the two stepped down off the sidewalk, into the street. Victoria whirled to watch them go, clearly shocked.

Jarrod hurried to close the distance. “What happened?” he asked. “Mother? Heath?” Jarrod thought he recognized one of the women as Mrs. James Zach, a member of their church and an occasional visitor to the ranch.

“Oh, Heath,” Audra was saying. “I’m so sorry. What an awful thing to say.”

Nick’s face was thunderous. Jarrod grabbed his arm. “Nick. What happened?”

“She said…she said…”. Nick couldn’t go on, just shook his head, then looked over at Heath, grimacing. His eyes were shining with fury.

Victoria said: “Let’s not stand here blocking the sidewalk.” She took Heath’s arm again and started forward.

“Nick?”

“Later, Jarrod.”

Heath moved a little faster, Victoria had to walk briskly to keep up with his long legs. He put his head down and seemed to be concentrating on putting one foot before the other. When they reached the wagon he helped Victoria up. “I’m sorry that happened, Heath,” she said. “I can’t imagine how anyone could think such an ugly thought, let alone speak it.”

Audra hugged him before climbing up herself, whispering something into his ear that made the harsh lines of his face relax a fraction.

“I’ll come by in an hour or so,” Fred said quietly, and walked off.

“I’m sorry, Heath; I didn’t hear. What happened? What did she say?” Jarrod asked.

“Nothing I haven’t heard before,” Heath said. He jerked Gene’s tie loose and handed it to Audra. “Take care of that for me, will you?” he asked.

“Of course I will,” she said. “Heath–“.

“Come on Nick, I’m ready for that beer.” Heath turned and headed for the saloon. Nick, with a quick look at Jarrod, followed.

“Will someone tell me?” Jarrod looked at Victoria. “Mother?”

She sighed. “Hester Harrison said that it was bad enough a common saloon girl was buried in the same graveyard as her sainted mother, but it was a disgrace that…”. She drew in a steadying breath before continuing. “She said it was a disgrace that his child, the ‘bastard of a bastard that killed its own mother’; that decent people would have to spend eternity lying beside…and so on. Then Elsie Zach asked him how he could bring himself to soil this family with his presence. I think that was the way she phrased it. Jarrod, I swear that if I hadn’t been so surprised, as old and settled a lady as I am, I might have…”. She reached for the reins. “I’ll have to make a point of calling on them, soon.”

“It’s outrageous!” Audra said. “Why, neither of those…neither of them would have let Meg into their house! And now they talk that way to Heath?”

“You’re right, honey,” Jarrod said. “But I’m sure Meg is just an excuse.”

“It’s inexcusable,” Victoria said. “Jarrod, is there any news? Any chance that the man who did this will be caught soon?”

“Fred did ask to talk, he may know something. But I’m afraid, even if there is an arrest, it may not make people like Mrs. Harrison and Mrs. Zach think differently about Heath.”

“That’s so unfair,” Audra said.

It hadn’t been so very many days since that same thought had crossed Jarrod’s and Victoria’s minds, as they contemplated a possible marriage. Jarrod was beginning to wonder how likely it was that Heath would ever receive fair treatment in Stockton.

*****

“Old bitches,” Nick said.

Heath shrugged.

“I’ve heard oldtimers say, when Mrs. Zach was a girl, she wasn’t above—“.

“Don’t, Nick.” Heath said sharply. He was sitting back and sipping moodily at the whiskey Nick had bought – a bottle of the stuff Heath preferred, rougher than Nick usually drank. Heath had tossed back the first couple pretty quick and now seemed to be simmering down. But Nick wasn’t sure that was any better. Like a couple days ago, when he’d gotten into that fight with Summers. Sure, Heath heated up plenty fast, but when that left him he just seemed tired and depressed. He didn’t ever seem to get any satisfaction from a good dust-up.

“All right, Heath, but – they got no business talking that way. Just because they’re women – and old ones at that – if they’d been men I’d’a busted ‘em.”

“I reckon you’ll get your chance,” Heath said. “They aren’t the only ones with opinions.”

“No, no…I suppose not.” For a couple of minutes the two of them sat there quietly. Nick had had it in mind for a while to have a particular conversation with Heath. Maybe this wasn’t the best time, but he wasn’t sure when that ever would be. And it was something needed saying. “Heath, I’m sorry.”

“You got nothing to be sorry about.”

“I do,” Nick said. He hesitated a second, then pressed ahead. “I’m sorry I gave you such a hard time, when you first came.”

Heath said mildly: “That’s in the long past, Nick.”

“Not so long as all that. I been thinking about that. You know, I was pretty hot back then.”

“Were you?” Heath grinned.

Nick had to smile, too; it was a monumental understatement to describe him as having been ‘hot’ in those days. But he wouldn’t be sidetracked. “Well, maybe you didn’t notice,” he said dryly. “You’ll have to take my word for it. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe you. I did, I think maybe I did from the beginning, from that first night. But I was just so mad…at you, at Father, at the whole thing. But mostly, at Father. Not…not that he’d done what he’d done. Because of that, well, because of that I had another brother. More that he’d been so careless, that he didn’t…be a man. Take care of things, like he shoulda. You and me, we’re not kids, Heath, we know how things can happen. But you have to make it right. You have to find out and make it right.” Nick sighed. “I was disappointed in him, as a man. And I was angry at you for making me feel that way. Every time I saw your face, I got angry all over again. I’m sorry, Heath.”

Heath was staring into his glass. He didn’t seem inclined to say anything. “I’ll get us another bottle,” Nick said.

“I coulda done things different,” Heath said then, still looking down. “Wasn’t just you. Sometimes I…”. he trailed off.

“What?”

Heath shrugged. “Wishing don’t change it,” he said.

That seemed to be all he had to say on the subject. Nick knew that for sure, wishing didn’t change things. Wishing wouldn’t fix Heath’s childhood or change the things Tom Barkley had done; wishing wouldn’t bring Meg back. And wishing sure wouldn’t change the opinions of people like Mrs. Harrison or Mrs. Zach. “Shoulda busted ‘em,” Nick muttered.

“Who?”

“Them old bitches.”

“Oh. Why don’t you just fire ‘em?” Heath wondered.

Nick looked at his brother in surprise. Had he had enough to be drunk? Then he saw the glint of mischief and snorted. “Neither of those old cows ever did an honest day’s work in their life! And speaking of honest work, whaddya say we try and scare up a poker game?”

It was early to start serious drinking. Heath usually stayed pretty steady when he was playing cards, they could kill a few hours that way and start another bottle later. Nick looked around for some likely players. There were a couple of ranchers at the bar, Nick recognized them from Association meetings. “Be right back,” he said.

The bartender this afternoon was Matt, which was a damn good thing. Nick hadn’t missed the scowl the other one had leveled at Heath, at the funeral. “Get you something?” he asked Nick.

“Just wondering if I could interest these gents in a friendly game,” Nick said.

The closest of the two looked at Nick and said bluntly: “Barkley, I got nothing against you. But I got no interest in being friendly with that so-called brother of yours.” He turned back to the bar.

“Is that so?” Nick said, after a shocked second. “Maybe you don’t feel so friendly toward me either.”

Nick smiled, and Matt knew that smile. “Take it outside,” he said warningly. “It’s too early in the day to be busting up the place.”

“No need.” The rancher drained his whiskey. “Come on, Asa. Let’s go.”

Nick watched them walk out, disbelieving. Then he looked over at Heath and very much hoped that he hadn’t heard the exchange.

Matt leaned close and spoke quietly. “Nick, you got to know the truth. I don’t know what Heath’s telling you, but that baby – that baby was his.”

“And just how is it you know _that_?” Nick demanded.

“Meg told me.” Matt’s face was an honest one, Nick stared into it for a long minute.

“She was lying,” he finally said.

“I don’t think so.” Matt hesitated. “Nick, I don’t want to put my foot in where it don’t belong, but what do you really know about Heath?”

“I know he’s my brother,” Nick said darkly. “And I know you better think real careful about what you say next.”

Matt nodded. “That’s fair enough, Nick. I’m just telling you, Meg said the baby was his. She said they was gonna marry. Now she ain’t here to tell you herself. That’s all I’m saying.”

“You think he killed her too?”

“I don’t know,” Matt said. “I don’t, and that’s the truth. I never seen him treat her rough and I never seen him get outta control from drinking. I don’t know. But that baby was his.” Matt spoke with conviction and without rancor, he had never before seemed to have anything against Heath, and he had probably known Meg quite well. What reason would he have to lie?

For Nick, this was the hardest thing. He knew only one way to be a brother – and that was to love and trust completely. He’d never been wrong to do those things with Jarrod or Gene, even though each one of them not infrequently acted like a damned fool. But it was hard to give that unqualified, brotherly support to a man he barely knew, a man who sometimes didn’t open his mouth for days on end, a man who kept secrets.

Damned hard.

*****

After seeing his mother and sister off, Jarrod spent a half-hour speaking with Perkins. The young clerk had briefly interviewed the witnesses Madden mentioned and had nothing substantive to report. They had confirmed witnessing some kind of an argument; it didn’t sound like it had been very dramatic. He was now trying to speak with the girls Meg had worked with. Red-faced, he explained that he would need to pay them for their time. Jarrod had to struggle mightily to keep from smiling as he counted out the bills. Teasing studious, serious-minded Alvin Perkins was out of the question.

He was just closing the door behind Perkins when he saw Fred Madden coming down the sidewalk with Phil Archer.

“Phil, thanks for coming,” Jarrod shook hands with his old college classmate. It had surprised him when Archer took the job as prosecutor in Stockton, succeeding Jarrod. When Jarrod had taken the job, it was to be close to his family while he gained experience. Archer had no connections to Stockton that Jarrod knew of. He’d been making a small name for himself in San Francisco the past few years, they’d even worked together on a couple of big cases. Possibly it was the desire to be his own man, to run his own office – even if that office consisted solely of himself. Jarrod had observed a hint of tyrant in Archer, since his appointment. Also some priggishness, which contrasted strongly with the attitudes he’d held, or had seemed to, while in school. If Phil decided to take it upon himself to be the guardian of morality in Stockton, it was one more hurdle Jarrod could have done without. But he comforted himself, Phil Archer was a very good attorney, and an honest man.

“I’ll get right to the point,” Fred said. “Jarrod, when we spoke on Thursday, you mentioned that you had noticed some differences between what you remembered reading, in Miss Wilson’s diary, and what was in that copy I gave you.”

“That’s true.” Jarrod looked over at Archer, but the prosecutor’s face gave nothing away. “I did.”

“You said you wanted to think about it. Have you?”

“I have some concerns, Fred,” Jarrod said. “Now, as you know I only saw the original briefly, and the only complete entry I read was the last one. I know that was different.”

“Different in what way?” Archer asked.

Jarrod hesitated. “Let’s just say – I don’t think that the original was quite as…specific in naming my brother as the father of the child, as was the copy.”

Fred looked away from Jarrod, out the window. For a minute he seemed very old, and very tired. “I read the whole thing,” he said finally. “And I have the same concerns.” His voice dropped. “And some others.”

“What are you saying?” Jarrod leaned forward.

“You only looked at that diary for a minute, but I read through the whole thing, Jarrod. And I’ve read the copy. My memory may not be what it used to be, I’ll admit that, but it’s not the same document.”

“I see.” To cover his excitement, and calm his suddenly racing heart, Jarrod stood and went to the sideboard. He brought three short glasses and a decanter back to his desk. He poured out three drinks and left two on the edge of the desk, then sat down and leaned back, tasting the bite of the whiskey.

Fred took his drink and downed it. “Jarrod, this is a bad situation,” he said. “I can rely on you to keep this between us.”

“Of course.”

Madden reached into his vest, pulled out a letter and handed it to Jarrod. “I got this today, this morning. It’s from Sheriff Phillips in Modesto. You know that my deputy is from Modesto.”

“I didn’t know that,” Jarrod said. “Meg Wilson was from Modesto.”

“She was.”

The letter read:

_Sheriff Madden._

_You ask for more information about Henry Lewis, your deputy who used to work for me here. When I wrote his reference, I said he was a good lawman, and he is. It was his posse that caught Jake Cooke and his boys after they robbed the stage and killed those folks last summer. He caught a gang of rustlers hit us pretty hard the year before. I have no complaint about his work. He did his paperwork just fine and never mistreated prisoners. That is the truth._

_But you seem to want to know about his habits outside of the job, and I’m sorry to hear it. Lewis had some trouble with some of the girls in town. I’m not saying it was anything the law needed to take care of. It was not. But there were some girls that had trouble with him. Miss Emily, who you may know of, asked me to tell him to not visit her establishment anymore. That was not something that I took pleasure in doing._

_When he got married I thought he’d settle down some, and I thought he did. When he told me he was coming to work in Stockton, I figured it was because he and Mrs. Lewis wanted a new start. When I wrote that reference I didn’t mention this, and if that was a mistake then I apologize. But it wasn’t something that I wanted to put onto paper, and I don’t much like doing it now._

_Aside from this, I was completely satisfied with Deputy Lewis and had no problems with him._

_John Phillips, Sheriff_

Jarrod looked up from the letter, at Madden, at Archer. The Sheriff looked almost sick. Archer was hard to read as he always had been, but his face was grim. “If you got this today, you must have wired several days ago. Why?”

Madden sighed. “Right away, something was strange. He just seemed mighty anxious that Heath be suspected. He interviewed McMichael and Craig, and Mrs. Payson, and according to his report, Heath all but did it right in front of them. Then I talked to them myself, and their story was some different. There was some kind of disagreement, sure, but nothing serious. Craig hardly remembered it at all. I thought I was going to have to talk to Hank about his report writing.

“Then you said you had some problem with the copy of that diary, and so I took that home and read it. And you were right. I asked Hank if he’d left things out, if he’d skipped things if they didn’t seem important, but he swears it was an exact word-for-word copy.

“Now, this.” Madden took the letter back and folded it carefully. “Truth is, Jarrod, I didn’t much like the way Lewis…conducted himself around the girls at the saloon. He’s a married man.”

There was thundering silence in the office. Jarrod broke it after a minute. “Let’s be clear. Fred, do you mean to tell me that Heath isn’t a suspect anymore, but that your deputy is?”

“He isn’t a suspect,” Archer said. “I wouldn’t put it that way. We don’t have a shred of evidence against him. Both of you think there are discrepancies in the diary copy, but without the original, there’s no way to evaluate that. Deputy Lewis apparently came from Modesto, as did Miss Wilson. There was some trouble with women, there and here. Of course, I don’t have eager young associates I can send there to ask questions.” Archer stood and paced to the window. “I’m going myself in the morning.”

“And Heath?”

“He’s not eliminated as a suspect, no one is. But I think it’s fair to say that any investigation of him will be put on hold.”

Madden said: “Jarrod, I don’t think I have to tell you that we’d prefer this not go any further.”

“My brother deserves to know,” Jarrod said firmly.

“He will, in due course,” Archer said. “If there’s anything to know.”

“It would mean a lot to him, to know that he wasn’t a suspect any longer.”

“It would be premature to say anything of the sort,” Archer insisted.

Jarrod looked at Fred Madden. “Fred, you saw today, what he has to put up with. It’s not right to make him have to endure that one minute longer.”

“Let’s just take it easy for a few days, Jarrod. When Mr. Archer gets back from Modesto, well, things may settle out a little bit, then.”

“What are you doing about Lewis now?” Jarrod said. “And the attack, when the diary was taken – was that staged? Was there an accomplice?”

“I don’t have any answers, Jarrod, but I thought I owed it to you to tell you what the questions are. We’ll know more when Mr. Archer gets back.” Madden stood.

When they’d gone Jarrod sat down at his desk and lit a cigar. It had been a terrible week, but it looked like it was coming to an end. He knew how Heath felt about his tactics. An arrest of someone else, a conviction, without having to make the arguments Jarrod had been prepared to make…it would be damned hard to wait to tell him.

*****

The afternoon wore into evening, poker players coming and going. Nick was up a little and Heath about even when some of the Barkley hands came into the saloon. They’d been drinking and were loud and rowdy. Nick watched them come, stumbling and shoving each other – he wondered if they’d been kicked out of someplace else already. He was unsettled to see Summers and Marvas with them.

“I’m gonna get another pitcher,” he said, and laid his cards down. “I’m out.”

Heath nodded, not raising his eyes.

Nick went to the bar and stood next to Al Benson, a Barkley employee of some years. Without preamble, he said: “Summers and Marvas – get ‘em out of here.”

“Huh?” Benson looked over at Nick. “What’s that, Mr. Barkley?”

“I want you to take Summers and Marvas and leave. Got it?”

“Leave?”

Benson was drunk and Nick had no patience for it. “All right, I’ll tell you one more time. I want you,” he poked Benson in the chest with his finger, “to take Summers and Marvas, and get them out of this saloon. Now.”

There was a sudden stench behind them. Summers. “Boss man wants me to leave. But he ain’t the boss man anymore, now is he?”

“Summers, I’ve had more than my fill of you this week. Now I’d take it as a personal favor if you’d get your friend Marvas and get out of my sight.” Nick turned and faced the man.

“Well, there’s a little bit of a problem with that,” Summers said. “See, Nick – I can call ya Nick ‘cause you ain’t the boss man anymore – ‘cause I don’t wanna leave. I think I wanna stay here and have a talk with my ol’ buddy Nick, yes I do. And that mongrel he calls brother. Now that is a very peculiar thing.” He shoved past Nick and slapped the bar. “Whiskey!”

“Summers, I’m warning you,” Nick said through clenched teeth. He kept his voice down, hoping that Heath wouldn’t notice. The poker table was at the back of the saloon and there were a fair number of people crowded around. It might still be possible to avoid a fight, and as much as Nick’s pulse was already quickening in anticipation, there was a strong warning voice inside speaking against it.

“Jus’ a friendly little talk. You know, Nick, you don’t pay me no more so you can’t tell me what to say.” Summer drained the glass of whiskey the bartender put in front of him. “Hell, I can’t tell you what to say neither. I guess you want to call him brother, that’s none of my business. I guess you can call Les Gardner’s old hound dog brother, well that’s your business, Nick. Thing is, some people just ain’t no good.” He shook his head sorrowfully. “Nope, just plain no good. Like that there bastard.”

“Take that back. Or I’ll take your head off.” Nick seethed.

“He’s drunk, Mr. Barkley.” Beginning to sober up, Benson tried to get Summers away, pulling on his arm.

“But he ain’t the only one. See, my old woman, she knows all about it. That baby…that baby _he_ killed, that was his own mongrel. See, like father—“.

At that Nick let go, and it felt good, though it wasn’t much of a fight. Summers and Marvas were willing, but drunk, and the rest of the hands – used to fighting with Nick, not against him – pretty much stayed out of it. He ended up with an ear slashed by a broken beer glass and a couple of tender ribs. By the time Heath joined in it was about over, though he did wind up with a wrenched knee. (Judging from the bill later sent to the ranch, damage to the saloon had been light. It wasn’t the first time Nick had spent Sunday recovering from a saloon fight, far from it. But it was the first time he could remember feeling so unsettled after.)

There had been a very ugly undercurrent to the fight. While the Barkley hands hadn’t fought Nick, one at least had taken a swing at Heath. Afterward, as the brothers untied their horses and mounted, several of them cursed and jeered at Heath and, to Nick, they didn’t seem too drunk to know what they were doing.

Heath had fought hard to be accepted by the tough Barkley hands, and Nick thought he had succeeded. He thought Heath had taken his place beside him, as a Barkley. Now it looked like that had all drained away, in just a week. It turned out to have been a fragile thing after all. All the way home Nick kept looking over at his brother, but Heath wouldn’t meet his eyes and he answered all Nick’s questions with noncommittal grunts. It was early when they got to the ranch, Ciego was still in the barn. Heath handed him Charger’s reins and went into the house alone.

Sunday morning, for the first time in Nick’s memory, Victoria didn’t go to church, and she didn’t insist the rest of them go either. Heath didn’t even come downstairs until after 8:00, leaning heavily on the banister – but when he saw Victoria sitting in the parlor his face hardened and he limped out the door without a word.

*****

She didn’t find him in the barn, seeing to Charger, or with the new horses in the corral. Victoria didn’t know Heath well enough yet to know all his hiding places, but she had known his father very well. She had her horse saddled and rode to the North Ridge – not the fenced cattle area, but around back, where it was still wild country.

He was silhouetted against the morning sun, hat pushed back on his head as he looked down into the valley. If he saw her approach and dismount he didn’t give a sign. Instead, after a minute, he said without turning: “I’m sorry you had to miss church.”

“I think my soul will survive.” Her horse and Charger nickered at each other. She patted the stallion’s nose. “How is he?”

“He’s fine. You could still go. There’s another service later.”

“Maybe you’d like to come with me.”

Heath turned to her then. Sometimes he looked enough like her husband to make her breath catch in her throat. This morning he resembled Tom Barkley not at all. “I think I’ve had enough of Stockton for a little while,” he said flatly.

“I’m so very sorry about what happened yesterday. And the worst of it is, I suppose you’ve heard worse.”

“Some,” Heath allowed.

“So – what are we going to do about it?”

“Do?” Heath looked at her blankly.

“That’s right, how are we going to respond? Heath, you’ve been with us for six months now. I couldn’t love and care about you more if I had given birth to you. When I see you hurt it hurts me, as much as it would if the hurt were to any of your brothers, or your sister. Do you know that?”

“I know it,” Heath said quietly, looking away again.

“I’m glad.” She went to him and wrapped her arm around his waist. After a moment, he did the same. It was different – there was a care, a gentleness not present when Jarrod, Nick or Eugene held her. He was always so careful. How could anyone honestly believe he would harm a woman? “I wouldn’t let that go unanswered if it were any of your brothers, Heath. You know that too.”

She felt rather than heard his chuckle. “I guess that’s so.”

“So what are we going to do about it?”

“I don’t reckon there’s much to be done,” Heath said softly. “People get mighty set in their opinions. Can’t talk folks out of ‘em, just have to show ‘em. Hope they come around to think different on their own.”

“But show them what, Heath? Show them they can keep you out here, by yourself? That their hateful words will keep you away from town? Or, show them that you are an important and loved member of this family, with every bit as much right to live your life as fully as any of the rest of my children? Heath, this is very important. I simply won’t allow ignorant and bigoted people to keep us from living as a family.”

Heath thought, no I guess you won’t. Victoria Barkley says she won’t allow it, it won’t be allowed.

“Will you come back with me, and come to church?”

He still hesitated. “Well, of course you don’t have to,” Victoria said. “But I hope that’s your choice, that it’s what _you_ want.”

“You can’t have everything you want,” Heath said quietly. He was silent for a time. She waited. Finally he sighed. “Guess we better hurry if we’re going.” Despite strong misgivings, he rode back to the ranch with Victoria and dressed for the late service.

*****

The Barkley pew was on the right, at the front of the church. Tom and Jim Barkley had contributed five thousand dollars to the building fund and matched every dollar raised in the valley. Stockton had been nearly wilderness then. A church had been critical to attracting families, to creating the kind of town where people put down roots. Victoria had just recently contributed an additional two thousand dollars toward the latest, ambitious expansion project.

Victoria and Audra went every Sunday, with Jarrod on the occasions he was in Stockton. Nick and Gene attended less frequently. In the months Heath had been with them he’d gone a few times with the family, and he’d accompanied Silas to his church a few more. It was hard to say what his church habits would be. He obviously knew his way around the scriptures. Victoria had been surprised and touched to hear him talk with Reverend Wolfe the night they’d had him to supper. It was still the most she’d ever heard Heath speak at the table. But he didn’t seem to enjoy church services, he was uncomfortable in his new suit and seemed bored by the announcements and community news. Victoria privately agreed that the Reverend overdid it. The happiest she saw Heath was during the hymns; though he never joined in his lips moved silently along with the singers.

This day everything went badly from the start. First the buggy hit a rut and the wheel knocked loose. It took fifteen minutes to fix which, given their late start, made them very late. Both Nick and Heath got grease on their hands and clothes, but it hardly showed on Nick’s black pants and jacket – Heath’s lighter clothes showed the stain plainly. By the time they reached the church the music had started, and they had to walk down the side to their pew with all eyes upon them. The music stopped just as Nick sat and Heath, behind him, was the only Barkley still standing, in his grease-stained shirt.

Then a few minutes into the prayer, Nick let loose with an awful sneeze. He’d been fighting it a while, his body shaking and his face growing redder. Of course Heath, sitting beside him, had been close witness to both the battle and the defeat. He grinned broadly and almost laughed – and saw a sea of hostile faces across the aisle, scowling his way.

The service was most unfortunate, Victoria couldn’t imagine why the Reverend had chosen it, just a day after burying poor Meg. It was about temptation of the flesh, and eternal damnation. She could only imagine what Heath was thinking – about Meg, about himself, about his mother, about his father.

Afterwards in the crush of people Nick and Heath were separated from the rest of the family and considerably behind as the congregation filed out, and so missed most of the confrontation. But they were there for the end of it.

“Victoria, you must see it’s impossible,” Elsie Zach was saying, in her loud shrill voice. “You cannot expect respectable people to be in the same house as that person. It’s not decent. I am _shocked_ you allow your own daughter to associate with him.”

“Stop it!” As they finally came out onto the broad front steps they saw Audra with tears in her eyes. Victoria and Jarrod, white-faced, stood beside her. “Please! The children love coming to the house, they’ll be so disappointed. They’ve been looking forward to it for weeks. Please don’t cancel it!”

Elizabeth Mitchell hissed: “You must see what he is. Margaret Wilson was no saint, but it wasn’t until she took up with him that she got herself into trouble. And then he killed her!”

Heath vaguely remembered Audra had been planning some sort of party for the children from the orphanage, but he found it hard to keep up with all her activities. Beside him, Nick was already ruffling up, like one of the barn cats in an ornery mood. This was too much, he could stand a bar fight with his brother, but he couldn’t stomach seeing his little sister crying on the church steps. And he sure wasn’t going to allow an ugly argument out here, for all to see, with him as its subject. He stepped forward and took Audra’s arm. “Morning, ladies,” he said woodenly. “Audra, I think it’s time we got on home, don’t you? Got an awful lot to do to get ready for those kids. And don’t worry,” he turned a wintry gaze on Mrs. Zach. “I won’t be anywhere near I could bother respectable people.” Women like that were bullies; he’d seen plenty of them growing up. He was sure once Victoria got her breath back she’d put them in their place, but he wasn’t in a mood to stomach that either. He knew they’d back down if he faced them, and they did. As they stormed away, Victoria turned to Heath, her eyes full.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Let’s go.” Jarrod put out his arm for his mother and she gratefully took it. Nick stood a second longer on the steps. “Nick?”

“Jarrod–“.

“Not now, Nick.”

It was a silent, uncomfortable ride home. Nick and Heath sat up front, concentrating on the team. Victoria and Audra held hands and attempted to show a calm front to anyone who might see. Jarrod sat in the back, looking out at the passing countryside, lost in thought.

*****

Late that afternoon as he unhooked the buggy and cared for the horses, Nick reflected on the fact that as lousy a morning as it had been – and as impossible as it seemed – things actually got worse later. Almost as soon as the family had returned from church, Jarrod had saddled Jingo and announced his intention to go back into town. He hadn’t even stopped in the house to change clothes, saying something about business. There sure wasn’t any business to be done in Stockton on a Sunday, but Nick had let it go.

Victoria had tried to talk to Heath, probably to apologize, but he wouldn’t hear it. He had made an excuse about Charger needing attention and had gone into the barn. This time she had let him be, and he was out there or somewhere, brooding, the rest of the morning. He had been sullen at the midday meal, eating quickly. Conversation had been strained; everyone avoiding the topic of what had happened at church. It had been a relief when Heath excused himself to go back outside.

Then Victoria and Audra had taken it in their heads to visit the orphanage and speak with the matron. Now, that hadn’t seemed like a very reasonable idea to Nick. The morning’s wounds were raw, and he was pretty sure that Mrs. Zach and Mrs. Mitchell wouldn’t have spoken the way they had, if they hadn’t already come to some sort of understanding with the caretakers at the orphanage. As he hitched up the buggy he had tried to talk his mother out of it.

_“Don’t know what you think you can accomplish. Those old biddies aren’t going to listen to reason.”_

_“Maybe not, Nick, but we owe it to the children to try,” Victoria said briskly. “I can’t believe that Mrs. Welsh would deny them a pleasant day here at the ranch.”_

_“Can’t you?” Nick asked skeptically._

_“Elsie Zach is a very…forceful personality, but I’m not without resources. I’m sure Mrs. Welsh is aware of the degree to which the orphanage is supported by the Barkley family.” Victoria accepted Nick’s hand up into the buggy. “Financially, not to mention Audra’s hard work.”_

They were gone just over an hour, a bad sign. Audra had jumped down from the buggy and rushed into the house. If she hadn’t been crying she’d been damned close to it.

_“Well?” Nick asked his mother as he helped her down._

_She sighed and looked around. “Where is Heath?”_

_“Here,” Heath came around the side of the barn, wiping his hands on a rag, whitewash smears on his hands and shirt. “What happened?” Victoria hesitated fractionally, and Heath said: “Whatever it is, just say it.”_

_“All right.” She drew in a deep breath. It wasn’t often that Nick thought of his mother as an old woman. Her skin and her figure were still those of a girl, only her hair gave her away, and sometimes a sad, faraway look in her eyes. Right now, though, she looked weary, sad, and old. She said: “The party is cancelled. Mrs. Welsh thinks it would be ‘better for the children’ not to be in the same house as…as you, Heath.” For a second Nick had been irked, wondering what possessed her to say such a thing so baldly. But then he realized that Heath wouldn’t appreciate her sugar-coating it, that he’d want honesty more than anything else, and Victoria knew it. She took Heath’s hand and looked into his eyes, the tears in her own visible even to Nick._

_“She said that his illegitimacy makes it improper, but the fact of his having murdered Margaret Wilson makes it impossible. That she has a responsibility to care for the children, and she would not feel safe were they to be around Heath. That she no longer has any confidence in Audra’s or my judgment or discretion. That neither of us is welcome at the orphanage, as long as we continue to defend and support Heath and as long as he’s living at the house.”_

_“Jesus!” Nick eyed his mother. She seemed more sad than angry. “How’d Audra take it?”_

_“She was extremely upset, we both were, but she conducted herself very well. I was proud of her. She said that Mrs. Welsh had been misinformed, that Heath was innocent, that Sheriff Madden would prove it, and that she loved her brother. She said that it wasn’t right to punish children because of ignorance and prejudice.”_

_“Ha!” Nick slapped his thigh. “Good for her!”_

_“Heath. I’m so sorry,” Victoria said. “I don’t know what to say, or what to think. These are people I thought I knew. I’m beginning to think I don’t know them at all.”_

_Heath shrugged_. “I’m _sorry,” he muttered. “I’m sorry about all this.”_

_“Not your fault!” Nick protested._

_“Heath. It isn’t,” Victoria insisted._

_“Don’t matter,” Heath said. He stood there a moment, then pulled his hand from Victoria’s grasp, turned away and walked toward the house._

Sighing, Nick finished grooming the horse. Yup, a lousy morning, and a worse afternoon. At this rate there’d be an earthquake by supper.

*****

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things come to a head. I begin to realize this is droning on about twice as long as it should have.

Jarrod stopped first at the hotel and asked for Perkins.

“I think I saw him head toward the dining room,” the desk clerk told him. “But that was a while ago.”

“Thanks.”

“Mr. Barkley?”

Jarrod had started to turn away, now he turned back. “Yes?”

“Mr. Barkley, I don’t like to say anything, I know Mr. Perkins is an associate of yours, but…but he really oughtn’t to bring those women into the hotel. If…if that’s quite convenient, I mean.”   The poor clerk’s face was screwed up in a grimace welded to an ingratiating smile; Jarrod figured he’d been instructed by the owner to speak to him.

“Has Mr. Perkins been entertaining ladies in his room?” Jarrod asked.

“Oh no, sir! At least, not that anyone…that we’ve…well. He’s been bringing them to the salon, to the dining room.”

“I don’t see anything inappropriate about that,” Jarrod said.

“Well, these _particular_ ladies, you see…it’s not…quite…er…you see.” That awful grimace again. “You see,” the clerk repeated meaningfully.

Jarrod saw. “I’m sure Mr. Perkins would be more than happy to move to another hotel. I’ll speak to him about it.” As he walked away Jarrod heard the clerk sputtering, but he ignored it. The last week had shown him a side of his town that he’d never suspected. This was the side of town, of people, that Heath had probably experienced his entire life. Before all this, when he’d thought about Heath and how he was settling in, he’d assumed things were improving. Slowly, perhaps. The last few days proved he’d been wrong. Nothing had changed.

Perkins and the young woman were lingering over coffee and dessert. She wasn’t wearing feathers or sequins, but her occupation was obvious from the painted face and the bold look she gave Jarrod as he walked up to the table.

Perkins stood quickly. “Mr. Barkley! Please, join us. This is Miss Dietz.”

“You’re the lawyer one, ain’t you?” Miss Dietz drawled. “Don’t see you down to the saloon much.”

“No, not very often.” For a few moments the staff bustled about, bringing over an extra chair, silver, and coffee. When they’d gone, Perkins said: “Miss Dietz was telling me about Miss Wilson’s plans for the future. I wish I’d had a chance to meet her, she sounds like a very strong young woman.”

The hard edge softened a bit, and Miss Dietz smiled faintly. “She was.”

Impressed, Jarrod let Perkins continue leading the conversation. He’d always believed in the young man’s promise, but he’d feared Perkins’ natural sobriety would limit his career. To be successful, you had to be able to mix easily. He’d wondered why Perkins would bring Meg’s friends here, to the hotel, when they might be more comfortable in the saloon or their own rooms, but now he saw it had been a conscious, and shrewd, choice. Here, in a setting more formal than they were used to, experiencing a taste of life normally closed to them, they would feel a certain obligation to Perkins for bringing them – and Champagne served in crystal went to the head quicker than whiskey in a scratched bar glass.

Jenny Dietz had known Meg since her arrival in Stockton. At first they’d been close. Then Meg had started to spend time with Heath, and she’d worked less in the saloon. A lot of the girls thought she’d started to get above herself, but not Jenny. She understood – she herself had nearly married a young rancher in Kansas, but he died in an epidemic that swept the county a month before the wedding. Jenny had sensed the desire to become respectable had been strong in Meg.

Then, things changed. Jenny couldn’t say when precisely, maybe three months ago. Something was bothering Meg a good deal.

“Was it the baby?” Jarrod asked.

“No, she was happy about that.” Jenny said. She looked slyly at Jarrod. “She was wondering what Mrs. Barkley was going to think about being a grandmother.”

Sometimes Meg wore heavy makeup to cover bruising. Sometimes she wouldn’t go outside unless one of the other girls went with her. “She was afraid of someone,” Jenny said.

“My brother?”

“Oh, no,” she said. “No. When she talked about him, it was…different.”

“How so?”

“Well now, let’s just say, she wasn’t afraid of him. I’d say she had that boy pretty much where she wanted him.”

Jarrod met Perkins’ eyes briefly. Perkins gave a brief nod.

“I see,” Jarrod said. “You mean, because of the baby, Heath would be forced to marry her.”

“I’m not saying she did right,” Jenny said. “His…situation, she knew how he felt about it, that he wouldn’t let the same thing happen to his baby.”

“Heath says the baby wasn’t his. This other person, the one she was afraid of, could he have been the father?”

Jenny gave him a pitying look. “That was your brother’s baby, Mr. Barkley.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Well I guess no one can be sure, except the two of them. She said yes, he said no.” Jenny shrugged. “I don’t know him, but I knew her. Don’t much matter either way now, does it?”

Back in his office, Jarrod heard Perkins’ report. A number of Meg’s friends had spoken of her having feared someone; no one knew who it was, but no one thought it had been Heath. “I’m sorry there’s nothing more, Mr. Barkley.”

“It’s all right, Alvin. It’s more than we had.” Jarrod thought of sending Perkins to Modesto, but decided he’d wait to hear what information Archer came back with. “Why don’t you go back to San Francisco. I’ll wire if I need you again.”

“Mr. Barkley, maybe it’s not my place, but…”.

“Yes?”

“Everyone I spoke to was certain this baby was your brother’s.”

“Not exactly,” Jarrod said. “Everyone you spoke to was certain Meg _told_ them it was. It’s not quite the same thing.”

Perkins thought about that, and smiled a little chagrined smile. “You’re right, Mr. Barkley. That’s what they said.”

After that Jarrod walked to through town and stopped at the sheriff’s office. He looked in the window and saw Hank Lewis at the desk going through a stack of papers. The deputy seemed to feel Jarrod’s eyes on him, and he looked up. For a second they looked right at each other, then Lewis nodded and went back to his papers. Unsettled, Jarrod walked on.

There was nothing to do except wait, but he had a feeling that time was running out.

*****

Nick stood outside the door for several minutes, straining to hear, but there was only silence. Finally he raised his hand and knocked. "Heath?" He pushed the door open and stuck his head inside. "You in here?"

He was, sitting on the edge of the bed. In his hand was the big Colt pistol, and on the desk were his saddlebags. Nick looked around the room and noticed a few things out of place and Heath's bedroll on the floor by the wardrobe. Heath didn't react to Nick's entry, he was just staring down at the gun. Nick closed the door behind him, picked up the bedroll, walked to Heath and stood over him. "Which is it?" he asked roughly.

Heath muttered: "Leave it, Nick.”

"You tell me, you gonna go into town with _that_ ," he nodded at the gun. "Or you gonna just hightail it out of here?" He tossed the bedroll on top of the saddlebags.

Heath looked up, and Nick’s harshness vanished at the expression in his eyes. It struck him then there was another possible use for the gun, and he reached his hand out. "Let me have it, Heath."

Without protest, Heath handed it over. Nick unloaded it, put it back into its holster, then stuck it on the top shelf of the wardrobe. He also put the bedroll back where it belonged, and hung the empty saddlebags on the wall rack. As he moved around the room he noticed Heath’s shoulders sagging further. Hard to know just what to do, things were a mess. Confrontation made it worse, and ignoring it made it worse, too. The only way out would be if Fred made an arrest, but that didn’t seem like it would happen anytime soon, and Nick was not certain even that would right things. The attitudes he’d seen in the last few days, they came from a darker place than just a suspicion that Heath was a murderer.

Nick pulled a chair up in front of his brother and straddled it. “Heath, I asked you to wait to the end of the week, give Fred a chance. All right, it’s the end of the week. Tell me – who do you think did it?”

Heath shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said, listlessly. “I don’t know.”

“Well, you had an idea a few days ago. Who were you thinking then?”

“I don’t…I don’t want to think about it,” Heath said finally. “You were right. Let the law handle it.”

“Don’t seem to me the law’s doing much of a job.”

Sighing, Heath got up and went to the window. He leaned his forehead on the cool glass. “It’s all wrong,” he said. “Whatever folks think of me, they got no business talking to Mother and Audra that way.”

“You’re right about that. Folks in this town, they’re gonna be mighty ashamed of themselves someday.”

“Will they?”

“’Course they will, Heath.” Nick stood behind his brother and put his hand on his shoulder. “This is a bad business, but it’ll pass.”

“Shouldn’t have come here,” Heath said. “I was wrong to think…”.

“To think what?”

“You ever wonder, why is it always ‘dirty bastard’? I reckon I heard that expression growing up more times’n I can count. ‘Dirty bastard’, ‘filthy bastard’. I thought…I thought I could get clean, coming here. But I just made the rest of you dirty. If I’d known it was going to be this way, I wouldn’t have come, Nick.”

“It won’t always be this way. And that’s the last time I want to hear that from you.” Nick pulled on Heath’s shoulder and turned him around. “You listen to me, brother. I’m damned glad you came here. And so is Mother, and Audra, and Jarrod and Gene. And we’re the only ones who matter.”

“It matters if Audra’s in her room right now, crying her eyes out. It matters if Mother can’t go to church without getting into an argument on the church steps! It matters, Nick!”

“Other things matter more,” Nick said firmly. “You’re just gonna have to take my word on that, little brother.”

*****

The afternoon dragged. Audra went for a long solitary ride. Victoria was at something of a loss. Usually her Sunday afternoons were spent visiting but, after the events of the morning, she decided instead to read a little and rest in her room. The heat was oppressive – Nick and Heath tried to play a game of pool but found it too hot to even be in the house. Nick took it in his head to visit the winery. Harvest time was fast approaching and he wanted to have a look. They’d imported French oak barrels and built a new fermenting tank, and hired an experienced winemaker away from Buena Vista, up in Sonoma. This was one aspect of the family operations he couldn’t interest Heath in at all. In fact Nick himself sometimes didn’t relish what he was assured was excellent wine, but he drank it and tried to appreciate it. Heath, on the other hand, just made a face and asked for beer.

No, there wasn’t much chance of Heath Barkley turning into a winemaker, but in a way that was a relief to Nick. The busy period at the winery came just at the same time as roundup. This year he could leave the cows to his brother and spend more of his own time at the winery. And they might even get a little work out of Eugene; Jarrod thought he’d be having a break this fall.

Nick was firmly convinced that in order to remain prosperous, the ranch had to continue to diversify. He’d tried pretty much every crop known to man, and most everything grew in the fertile San Joaquin valley, but not everything turned a profit. Nick had plans for the Barkley label. He wanted to try champagne. It seemed to him the market for it was stronger than for either red or white wine. Everyone, even beer drinkers, wanted it for special occasions. And no one in California bottled it – you had to pay for French or Spanish imports. He knew they could produce a good quality product for a lower price. There was a played-out mine near the winery that would be perfect for aging and storing. They couldn’t go into full-scale production this year, but he wanted to experiment with the local grapes and see what kind of flavor resulted, maybe five hundred bottles or so.

He tried to talk Heath into coming with him. “No thanks, big brother,” Heath said dryly. “Don’t think I’m up to the Monsieur today.”

“Well, what’re you gonna do then?”

“Dunno. Maybe I’ll take Charger out and see if I can’t find Audra.”

“Come with me, we can both go look from there. Maybe stop by the canyon on the way back, see if we can’t pick up that stallion.” A wild or half-wild stallion had been sighted near the grounds half a dozen times in the past months. Most times they’d trailed him he’d headed toward the canyon, but they’d never put forth a serious effort to catch him.

Heath said: “No, you go on. Maybe I’ll have a look at that tack room.”

“Suit yourself.” Nick lingered briefly. Heath seemed okay, and they couldn’t watch him every minute. “Sure?”

“Sure, Nick.” Heath said firmly.

*****

A few hours later, pleased with what he’d seen and on the way home, Nick met up with Jarrod, coming from town, on the main ranch road. He reined Coco in and waited for Jingo to approach. Side-by-side the horses walked toward the ranch.

“How’s Monsieur LeFrandt?” Jarrod asked. The vintner they’d hired was fanatically dedicated, learned and articulate when discussing wine, winemaking and grape cultivation in France and in the United States. But he became incensed when frustrated, resorting to rapid-fire, unapologetic French, a lot of it off-color from the few words Nick had learned to recognize. No one was sure what to make of him yet; the proof would be in the first vintage.

Nick shrugged. “Well, he’s happy with the barrels, but worried about the grapes. He thinks they may be getting ripe too fast, we may have to shift some of the orchard crew.”

“To harvest?”

“Not exactly sure,” Nick flashed a grin at his brother. “He couldn’t talk English – think I must’ve offended him somehow. Well, gonna have him over to the house tomorrow to talk about it.”

Jarrod grinned back. M. LeFrandt had made clear his distaste for the Barkley home, especially the rowdy cowboys hanging around the ranch yard, and their snickers whenever he brought his waxed moustache and Continental wardrobe to the house.

“I’ll make an effort to be home for that,” Jarrod said.

“Yeah, which brings up a point. What ‘business’ did you have in town today, counselor? Didn’t know you kept office hours on Sunday.”

“You know I can’t talk about that, Nick.”

“Not even if your client is our brother?”

“Not even then.” Jarrod hesitated. “How is Heath?”

After a moment, Nick said: “I'll tell you what, if Fred doesn't make an arrest pretty damn soon, I don't know what that boy'll end up doing.”

“Fred’s going to solve this, Nick.”

“That's what I said. I told him last week – he was breathing fire, ready to go out and make trouble on his own – I told him if he'd just give Fred a chance, if he didn't make an arrest by the end of the week, I'd help him, we’d do something ourselves. Well, he waited, and today I asked him what he wanted to do, and it don’t look to me like he wants to do much of anything, except maybe leave.”

“Leave?”

“That’s right, Jarrod, leave. As in leave this town, this ranch, this family.”

They rode in silence for several minutes. “You talk him out of it?” Jarrod finally asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe, for a while.”

“I believe that Fred will have an answer for us, soon,” Jarrod said carefully. “We’re in a bad patch right now, but I think the end is in sight.”

“Well now, what makes you think that?”

“I can’t say, Nick.”

Nick reached out and grabbed Jarrod’s arm. “You know something,” he accused. The horses stopped, sensing the sudden tension, stamping in place and snorting.

“Nothing definite, Nick.”

“Goddamnit, Jarrod! What is it?”

Jarrod shook his arm free. “I can’t talk about it, Nick. Just try and be patient a few more days.”

“I don’t know that we’ve got a few more days! You tell me what you know, Jarrod.” Nick was in deadly earnest. “You don’t keep this from me, not _this_.”

After a moment, Jarrod said: “I’ve had Alvin Perkins asking around town, talking to witnesses, to people Meg worked with.”

“And?”

“It seems people who knew her don’t think that Heath killed her.”

“Well of course not!”

“Fred doesn’t either. And neither does Phil Archer, which is more important. I’m confident now there won’t be a prosecution.”

“Well I’m glad to hear someone in this town’s got a brain in their head.” Nick studied his brother, who didn’t seem particularly enthused. “But?”

“But…”. Jarrod sighed. “Most think he fathered the baby.”

“Well, Pappy, I don't care if he did or didn’t, I _know_ he didn't kill that girl.” Nick was a little cheered at hearing Heath wouldn’t have to face a trial. It wouldn’t solve all their troubles, not by a long shot, but a trial, even if they ultimately won, would have multiplied them.

“I wish I’d had a chance to look at that diary,” Jarrod mused. He clucked at Jingo and started down the road again.

Nick said: “I thought Fred read it. If there was something in there, wouldn’t he remember?”

“I think what was important about that diary, Nick, is what wasn’t in it.” That was all Jarrod had to say, the brothers rode silently for another half-mile.

When the main road met the canyon trail, Nick took it, deciding to have a quick look around. “Tell Heath where I went,” he said. “Still got some daylight, might get lucky.”

But Heath was nowhere to be seen when Jarrod rode into the yard. He stabled Jingo next to Charger and started out of the barn when he heard noises from above. There shouldn’t be anyone working, the hands wouldn’t even be on the grounds. Jarrod was pretty sure he knew who was up there.

*****

It was as bad as Nick had said, maybe worse. Heath had apparently set himself the task of reorganizing stores in the hay mow. This was properly a two- or three-man job, but already the fresh hay bales had been moved and neatly stacked against the south wall and he had started on the bagged feed. His face was red from exertion and heat. He looked up once, saw Jarrod, and went back to work.

“I thought the seventh day was to be one of rest, Brother Heath,” Jarrod said. Heath only shrugged; Jarrod sat down on one of the bales and watched for a time. He thought Heath would begin to run out of energy, slow down, give him an opening. Instead he seemed to be speeding up, tossing the heavy bags into place with an emphatic grunt. After a while he started wincing when he hoisted a bag over his shoulder and straightened his back, and from the way he carefully positioned himself, Jarrod knew his knee was hurting too.

Jarrod stood and walked to his brother, who was bent over, bracing his hands on his thighs, panting for breath. “Enough,” he said quietly. “That’s enough, Heath. Come on. Sit down.” He led Heath to a hay bale by the open door. The sun was starting to drift lower in the sky; he thought that if he could get Heath to stop for a few minutes the fading light would force him to quit for the day. He made him sit then handed him his canteen.

Heath drank deeply. “Got work to do,” he muttered and handed it back.

“Not on Sunday. And not by yourself.” Jarrod hesitated. “Heath, what happened this morning–.”

“Let me guess, Jarrod. You’re sorry. Is that it?”

“That’s part of it.”

“Then I reckon everything’s fine now. You’re sorry. Nick’s sorry, Audra’s sorry, Mother’s sorry. Everyone’s sorry.” Heath stood and faced Jarrod. He was still breathing hard. He looked about ready to explode. “I appreciate it, but it don’t change anything. Now I’d like to get back to what I was doing.”

“I think it’s important we talk about it.”

“Jarrod—.” Heath struggled for control. “I’m done talking about it. I’m done. I appreciate everything you’ve done, but talking about this…ain’t going to change anything, and I’m tired of it.” He walked to the door and leaned against the frame, looking out into the darkening sky. The anger drained, leaving behind a powerful weariness. “You know,” he said quietly, “it was hard – being a fatherless bastard. But sometimes I think it’s been harder to be Tom Barkley’s bastard. Back then, no one much cared what I did, as long as I didn’t try to get above myself, didn’t try to go in through the front door. Well, since I come here I’ve been going through the front door all right, that fine, solid oak front door. The fact is it don’t matter if Tom Barkley was my father – I still got to go around back. Difference is, there’s a whole lotta people watching now to make sure.”

“You’re wrong, Heath,” Jarrod said. “You have as much right to walk in the front door of this house – of any house in this valley – as I do, as Nick does – as anyone in this family. Because you are just as much a part of this family.”

“Maybe so. Just – I liked it better, when folks weren’t watching so close.”

“You think they won’t be watching if you left here?” Jarrod asked.

“Maybe…maybe it’s time to face it, it didn’t work. Here on this ranch, I think it mighta. But out there, it’s never gonna fit, Jarrod. I know you all tried, I know I did. Maybe it’s time to…”. Heath’s voice faded.

“Heath.” Jarrod came up behind him and laid one hand on his shoulder. “Just give me a little more time. I think there will be an answer for us, soon.”

Heath shook his head slowly. “Jarrod, don’t you see, it don’t matter. Even if whoever done it goes to church next Sunday and confesses from the pulpit, it won’t change anything.”

“For you, you mean.”

“For anybody. Be nice if people didn’t think I killed Meg, but they’re still not gonna invite me to Sunday supper.”

“It’s only been a few months,” Jarrod said gently. “Heath, people in town – they haven’t had a chance to get to know you. When they do, things will improve.”

“I’m tired of it, Jarrod. The people trying hardest to be good to me, I’m just causing them grief, that’s not right. Meg, I– “. His face worked. “Didn’t do her any good either. There’s gotta be a better way than this for a man to live his life.”

“I think there will be an arrest, soon, Heath.”

Slowly, Heath turned around. “You said that before. Jarrod, what do you know?”

“I don’t know anything, not for certain.”

“You know who did it,” Heath said wonderingly. “You know?”

Jarrod said slowly: “Fred, and Phil Archer, have a suspect, Heath. You aren’t a suspect anymore. I think there’s likely to be an arrest, maybe as early as this week.”

“Who?”

“Heath, I—“.

“You got to tell me, Jarrod. You got to.”

“Let them handle it, Heath.”

“I will. I will, Jarrod. I won’t…step foot off this ranch. I just need to know.” There was a terrible intensity in his eyes. “Who was it?”

Looking at Heath, Jarrod felt his resolve falter. He hadn’t actually promised Madden and Archer that he wouldn’t tell Heath, and he still felt that his brother had a right to know. “If I tell you, Heath, I want your word – you won’t confront him yourself. You’ll let the law take care of it.”

“The last thing I want is more trouble,” Heath said. “Jarrod, if they know who did it, if they’re going to take care of it, then I won’t get in the middle. You got my word.”

“And this goes no further.”

“I won’t say anything to Nick, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“This man, he can’t know he’s a suspect. If he does, it may become harder to prove it. Heath, I’m serious – it goes no further than you and I. For now. And you’ll stay away, you’ll let Fred handle it.”

“Jarrod, I gave you my word.”

Jarrod sighed. “Hank Lewis, the deputy,” he said. “He came from Modesto, did you know?”

The look of bewilderment in Heath’s eyes was total. He just stared at Jarrod. “The deputy?”

“Did you ever see them together, or did she ever talk about him? Think, Heath – did she say she knew him before?”

Heath shook his head slowly. “No, nothing. Not a word.”

“Some of her friends say she was afraid of someone. Not you, someone else. It started about three months ago. Does that sound familiar at all?”

“Three months?” Heath sat back down on the hay bale. “Three months.” He thought about it. “I hardly knew her, Jarrod, three months ago. But–“. He hesitated.

“What?”

“She did say, a couple times, she said she wished she could leave Modesto behind, but it wouldn’t leave her be. I thought she meant, what she did there.” He looked up at Jarrod. “That deputy, he’s new. How long—?”

“About three months,” Jarrod said. “Heath, if you can remember anything about him, any connection to Meg, anything that might help.”

Heath nodded. “Thank you,” he said. “For telling me. I don’t remember anything but I’ll think on it. What’s going to happen now?”

“Archer went to Modesto to talk to people there. I expect he’ll be back early this week. Fred’s re-interviewing people that knew her, worked with her. He’ll want to talk to you again.” Jarrod hesitated. “Heath, I know it’s been rough. But there’re things happening, there will be some resolution. People in town, like this morning at church, they’re going to see they were unjust. It’ll be over soon.”

“Will it?”

Jarrod knew the issue wasn’t Heath’s guilt or innocence. The problem that had him up here in the hay mow, contemplating leaving his family, wouldn’t be resolved by a simple arrest. The problem was larger and more intractable than that. People might agree they’d been wrong to believe him a murderer, but the circumstances of his birth were facts, not mistaken opinions. The ugliness he’d seen in people, that they’d all seen the past week, no arrest could change that.

“Come on,” Jarrod said. “If you show up for supper looking like that, Mother’ll have your hide.”

*****

Thursday afternoon at 5:00 p.m. Jarrod, Fred Madden, and Phil Archer met in Jarrod’s Stockton office.

“Welcome back, Phil. I hope you have good news,” Jarrod said as he shook Archer’s hand.

“I don’t have proof, Jarrod,” Archer said. “Nothing that would warrant an indictment. But I’m…satisfied we have the guilty man.”

Jarrod poured drinks for himself and for Fred; Archer took one but sat holding it, untasted, while he recounted what he’d learned in Modesto. According to the woman who ran the saloon where Meg Wilson had worked, Deputy Lewis seemed to have had a particular fixation on her from the day Meg started. He pursued her relentlessly, tried to force her to go to church with him, tried to make her quit working. But he also got drunk and came into the saloon to be with her. Sometimes he got rough, and not just with Meg. Other girls complained about him, but until the time he’d actually blackened Meg’s eye, Miss Emily hadn’t wanted to cross him. She sensed he was not a man who would take correction kindly. It was with great reluctance she’d spoken to the Sheriff.

After that, Lewis stayed away from the saloon. Only a few weeks later he married Jessica Besedas, daughter of a local rancher. She was older, plain and very devout. There didn’t seem to be any great affection between them, rumor was they sat together in church like strangers and they were never seen together outside of it. Since a deputy’s wage wasn’t enough to buy a house, they lived with her family on their ranch.

One night there was a fight in the saloon, shots were fired. It happened that Deputy Lewis was on duty that evening and came in to break it up. Meg was downstairs. She congratulated him on his marriage, with perhaps a touch of mockery. It was after all a Saturday night and Meg was full of fun, as well as whiskey. Lewis hit her, hard. She ran into the back room and he followed, and it took Miss Emily, a bartender and a shotgun to get him to leave.

The next day Meg got on the stage and never came back. She wrote she’d settled in Stockton. She and Miss Emily continued a correspondence for nearly a year. Three months ago, Deputy Lewis and his wife left Modesto. Shortly after that, Meg wrote that Lewis had turned up in Stockton. She wanted to know if there was a job for her if she returned to Modesto, but Miss Emily told her no.

“She said she thought Miss Wilson was doing better in Stockton, meeting people, making a better life.” Archer finally lifted his glass and drained it. He looked over at Jarrod. “I guess that means your brother.”

“Did Meg write to her about Heath?”

“Not by name.”

“Did you see the letters?”

“No, she didn’t save them.”

“She must have felt terrible when you told her what happened to Meg,” Jarrod mused.

“Yes. But she was convinced Lewis followed her to Stockton. Even if she’d gone back to Modesto, she figured he’d follow her there too.”

“Do you think that’s what happened? He followed her?”

“I don’t know, Jarrod. Maybe, or maybe he was just tired of living with his in-laws. Fred tells me the pay’s better here in Stockton. Maybe he followed her here, or maybe it was just bad luck, for both of them.”

The other girls at the saloon, who’d worked there with Meg, told Archer similar stories. For some reason Lewis seemed to be obsessed with Meg, following her in the street and calling her names, then crying and begging. At first Meg had found him to be a nuisance. She hadn’t really feared him until the last few weeks, then she’d stopped talking about him entirely, doing everything she could to avoid him. He hadn’t been any worse than a lot of other mean drunks to the other girls, but something about Meg set him off.

Archer had also interviewed Sheriff Phillips and a deputy who had worked with Lewis. They both agreed there was something unhealthy in the man’s attachment to the girl, and were shocked and grieved to be questioned about him in regards to her murder. But Archer didn’t think they were surprised.

“It’s not enough to arrest,” Madden said. “Jarrod – you agree?”

Slowly, Jarrod nodded. “It’s not proof of anything, except a prior acquaintance, and a fight a year ago.”

“There’s no talk of anything like that, here in Stockton. If we could find one person who’d seen them together, witnessed…something.” Madden shook his head. “I haven’t heard a word.”

“Of course, she was afraid of someone, several people told Perkins that.”

“But not who she was afraid of,” Archer pointed out. “There’s no evidence to suggest it was Lewis. In fact, the only evidence we have points to Heath.”

“That argument. Well, we know what that was about.” Jarrod rubbed his eyes. “She was going to accuse him of being the father of her baby, force him to marry her. Because of Heath’s own…background, it hit him hard.”

“Then he wasn’t?” Archer asked. “You’re sure?”

“Sure as I can be,” Jarrod said.

Madden sighed. “I went by to see Mrs. Lewis today, asking how she’s doing, does Hank have any headaches and such, from that knock on the head. You know she’s having a baby?”

“I didn’t.” Jarrod closed his eyes a second. “Two babies, two different women. Any man might…. Well. Do you think she knows about Meg?”

Madden shrugged. “Can’t ask her, that’s for sure. She’s not stupid, Jarrod. My guess is she does. But that don’t help us. Even if we could question her, she’d never say anything to help convict him. If it were me in her shoes, I’d probably do the same. We’re not going to get any help there.”

“Where do we go from here?” Jarrod asked.

“I don’t know,” Archer said. The pained expression on his normally impassive face proved how much the admission stung. “I doubt there’s evidence to find. Miss Wilson doesn’t appear to have confided in anyone, there were no witnesses. We can’t possibly charge him.”

“You could question him,” Jarrod suggested. “He sounds like he’s a volatile personality. Maybe you could make him think you know more than you do, try and get him to confess.”

Madden said: “It wouldn’t work, Jarrod. Like Sheriff Phillips said, he’s a good lawman. He knows better.”

“He’s a good lawman, but this is something outside of that. Obviously he has a hard time controlling himself, in this regard. Maybe you could get one of the other girls at the saloon…”. Jarrod trailed off.

“Put one of them in danger? No, Jarrod.”

“No, you’re right.” Jarrod stood and walked to the window. They’d closed the draperies so that no one could see in and wonder what the three of them had to discuss, particularly Deputies Lewis or Norris. He stood there without even seeming to notice he was staring at fabric. “There has to be something,” he said. He turned to the other men. “We can’t leave it this way.“

“It’s not finished,” Madden said firmly. “If my deputy killed that girl, Jarrod, I’ll find a way to prove it.”

“That incident in the jail, when the diary was taken.” Archer spoke thoughtfully. “Someone did hit him, Dr. Merar told me it was from behind, that he couldn’t have done it himself. If we could find out who that was, we’d have a place to start.”

It was gratifying to Jarrod to hear the two men acknowledge Heath’s innocence, but it didn’t solve a major problem – the rest of the town was sure he was guilty. “What about Heath?” he asked quietly. “Will you make a statement he’s been cleared?”

“No,” Archer said. “Jarrod, think about it. Lewis doesn’t know he’s a suspect. As long as he thinks Heath _is_ , he’ll continue to think he’s in the clear. He might make a mistake. We can’t afford to put him on his guard.”

“Phil…he must know Fred’s stopped investigating Heath. And you can’t let this go on any longer. It’s very unfair to Heath.”

“Because he’s your brother,” Archer said, “You aren’t thinking like a prosecutor, or like a lawyer. Eventually the truth will come out. Yes, Heath will have had a few bad days or weeks, but it’ll be forgotten in time. Isn’t that worth catching a murderer?”

“If it were anyone else, I might agree with you. But it isn’t anyone else. Heath…doesn’t have a reservoir of goodwill in this town. People were suspicious and unwelcoming already. This has made a bad situation a great deal worse. A great deal.”

The last few days had been hard. Nick and Victoria both suspected something. Heath was as uncommunicative as he’d been the first week he’d been with the family. He’d kept his word and stayed close to the ranch. Each evening when Jarrod got home he found Heath waiting in the stable. Each evening Jarrod had to kill the look of hope in his brother’s eyes. He’d told Heath about this meeting, he didn’t want to go back home tonight and tell him nothing would come of it.

“A few more days, Jarrod,” Fred said.

“No.” Jarrod insisted. “It’s gone on too long already. It has to stop, now. Phil…Lewis no doubt knows you went to Modesto. He probably knows about Sheriff Phillips’ letter. Pretending to suspect Heath won’t do any good, and it will cause great harm to Heath.”

After a minute Archer sighed. He held out his glass for a refill.

“You know I’m right,” Jarrod said. “You’re not going to catch him that way.”

“I don’t know _how_ I’m going to catch him,” Archer said. “But I will.”

“I know you will.”

The street was quiet as they left Jarrod’s office. They stood together for a few seconds as Jarrod locked the door. As they shook hands, Gerald Stone, publisher and editor of the Stockton Eagle, walked up and joined them.

“Evening, gents,” he said genially. “Wonder if you have a minute?”

Stone had bought the paper a year or so ago and had immediately sunk it to the worst kind of rag, to sell papers. And he did sell papers – a lot of them. The paper was, to Jarrod’s mind, unreadable. He had the Chronicle shipped from San Francisco. Even several days old, it was preferable. But they still received the Eagle at the ranch, there was no sense antagonizing the local press. “What can we do for you?” he asked.

“Just wanted to ask the sheriff here, when he was going to arrest someone for killing that girl.”

Madden said: “I’ll make an arrest when we have evidence to prove guilt, and not before.”

“Huh. But I was wondering what’s going on, the three of you all shut away in the counselor’s office? Seems mighty cozy. The sheriff, the prosecutor, and the suspect’s brother – and attorney – meeting together late at night, shutters closed.”

“It’s hardly late at night,” Jarrod said. “And I wonder who you refer to when you say ‘suspect’? Do you know something we don’t?”

“I think we all know what’s what,” Stone said. “And who’s who. Sheriff, when are you going to arrest him?”

“Arrest who?” Jarrod asked pointedly. Stone was attempting to bait him, to get a good quote. He wouldn’t put it past Stone to have a photographer nearby, in case of a fistfight. He’d captured Hugh Simon and Jesse Dollar in a brawl behind the saloon a few weeks ago and had printed the photograph on the front page. Of course, it was so blurred neither man was recognizable. The town was still talking about it.

“That half-brother of yours,” Stone said. “As you know, better than any of us. That boy was trouble coming if I ever saw it. Can’t imagine what possessed you to take him in. I heard tell the Barkleys used to be a respectable family.”

“I’ll certainly give your opinion of my family the consideration it deserves,” Jarrod said dryly.

When he saw he wasn’t going to get the reaction he wanted from Jarrod, Stone turned to Archer. “Are you going to arrest him?” he asked pointedly.

“When there’s an arrest I’m sure you’ll hear of it,” Archer said. “In the meantime, the details of our investigation are confidential.”

“I appreciate that. God knows, the last thing I want is to jeopardize your investigation, Mr. Archer. Most of the women in this town, my wife included, are scared to leave their house, long as he’s free. Just tell me plain, do you expect to arrest – to make an arrest – soon? Sheriff?”

Madden sighed. “Mr. Stone, I don’t see what good can come from talking about this with you.” He looked over at Jarrod for a second, then said: “But I will tell you this. I expect to arrest the man who killed Meg Wilson. I don’t expect to be arresting Heath Barkley. Is that plain enough for you?”

“You don’t expect to arrest him?” Stone seemed genuinely surprised. “You can’t…you can’t think he’s innocent? That boy’s as guilty as the sin that spawned him! And I’ll prove it myself if I have to!”

“You’re talking about my brother, and my father,” Jarrod said, an edge shadowing his smooth voice. “I don’t much care for it, Stone. And I surely don’t want to be reading unfounded accusations in your…paper.”

“Oh, come on, Barkley. Maybe you and your family, maybe you can buy off the law, but you can’t stop a free press from printing the truth!”

“Mr. Stone.” Archer’s voice was even, his face calm. “Are you making an accusation that Mr. Barkley has bribed the sheriff? If you have, as an officer of the court I might consider it my duty to advise Mr. Barkley and Sheriff Madden to seek legal redress.”

“We all know what happened!” Stone sputtered. “But now I can see how it’s going to be. No justice for that girl, Barkley money’ll take care of that! And we got to live in this town with him. Tell me this, Sheriff, what’re you going to do when he kills another girl?”

“I’ll arrest the man who killed Miss Wilson,” Madden said. “You can be sure of that. Mr. Archer, Mr. Barkley, good night.” He tipped his hat and stepped off the walk.

“I guess when you’re a Barkley, even half a Barkley, you don’t have to worry about little things like the law,” Stone sneered. “Well, I won’t lie to my readers.”

“No man is above the law in Stockton,” Archer said. “Including yourself, Mr. Stone. Good night, Jarrod.”

When they were alone, Jarrod turned to look at Stone, just for a second, contempt clear in his eyes. “I believe we’ll be canceling our subscription,” he said. “I prefer fiction of a more literate sort.”

*****

“Did you see _this_?” Nick slapped the newspaper onto the desk, covering the book Jarrod had been trying to read. It was Saturday afternoon, Nick had been into town for supplies and had come back to the ranch, enraged, with the Friday edition of the Stockton Eagle. He stomped up and down the length of the study as Jarrod read the article. “Well?” Nick demanded, when Jarrod sighed and pushed it aside. “Can we sue that jackass?”

“No.” Jarrod said. “It’s offensive, certainly, but not libelous.”

“Oh for – !” Nick leaned over Jarrod’s shoulder and jabbed at the paper. “What about, ‘…a disgrace indelibly marking this city, that while a young woman lies cold in the ground, her murderer walks the streets, confident the law cannot reach beyond the shield of filthy lucre’, and, ‘…no woman can sleep easily knowing a brutal killer moves freely among us, flaunting his connection, however shameful, to a powerful family’, not to mention, ‘In this paper’s opinion, the time is long past when the memory of a respected man should be able to shield his progeny, however engendered, from the consequences of a vile and criminal act’!” Nick stalked away from the desk, to the window, trying to bring his breathing under control.

“Yes, I agree, Nick. It’s reprehensible,” Jarrod said, lighting a cigar.

“Infuriating!”

“And that. And…irresponsible, and ignorant, and detestable. But _not_ actionable, Nick.”

“You made up your mind mighty quick about that.” Nick scowled. He took the paper back and twisted it into a tight angry roll.

Jarrod said: “I saw it yesterday. My secretary had a copy brought out to the ranch with work.”

“And you didn’t think to show it to me.”

“Nick…what good would it do? You know that newspaper’s the lowest kind of trash. No one with an opinion worthy of respect gives it a thought.”

“Plenty of people read it. People I see every day. People _Heath_ sees every day. Jarrod…”. Nick sank onto the couch. He scrubbed his face with one big hand. “What’s going to happen?”

“I don’t know. I truly don’t. But I know that _, this, too, shall pass_.” He grinned a little – the saying was one that Nick had had quoted to him many times in his impatient life. “Just try to have some faith in Fred.”

Nick grunted. “That’s getting a little hard, Jarrod. You show it to him?”

“To Fred?”

“No not to Fred! To Heath.”

“No.”

“You know he’ll see it eventually.”

“I think Heath can handle it,” Jarrod said.

“Heath can handle what?”

The door – which Nick hadn’t closed all the way – opened, and Heath stuck his head in.

“Ah, nothing. Nothing.” Nick stood. “Just, you know, this whole…business. Say, you done in the barn? How about the three of us head out to the lake?” He kept talking, even as Heath’s eyes came to focus on the paper he still held. “We could take Audra along, keep her out of Mother’s hair for the afternoon. Or…how about we camp out? Gonna be a nice night. And you haven’t lived until you’ve tasted Audra’s trail cooking! Whaddya say, Heath? Jarrod?”

“Something in there got you upset, big brother?” Heath asked dryly, nodding at the newspaper. He held out his hand. “I heard some about it, out in the barn. Reckon I better have a look for myself.”

“Heath…”. Nick tried. “It’s just the Eagle, you know what that’s like these days. I don’t think you…it’s just gonna—“. Helplessly, he turned to Jarrod.

Jarrod asked: “Heath, what did you hear?”

“Nothing I haven’t heard before. Nick?”

Wincing, Nick handed it over.

“Consider the source, Heath,” Jarrod cautioned. “Gerald Stone’s only purpose is to sell papers. He’ll print any wild rumor, any unfounded accusation, you know that.”

Nick watched Heath’s face turn wooden as he read the harsh words. He said: “You shouldn’t – worry too much about that. You know, he…Jarrod’s right about Stone. That paper’s not fit to wrap fish. If Ed Tully could see what happened to it, he’d be turning over in his grave.”

When Heath finished reading, he looked a question at Jarrod. “There’s nothing libelous in there,” Jarrod said. “He qualifies every statement as opinion, not fact. Heath, I think the best thing to do is ignore it, anything you or we say will only make it worse.”

“Don’t know…how much worse it can get,” Heath said.

“Well, I could use a drink,” Nick said. He went to the sideboard and poured three generous shots into Jarrod’s thick tumblers.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the brothers as they sat and sipped at the whiskey. Heath stared morosely into his glass. After a few minutes he cleared his throat. “I’ve been thinking. It’s not gonna get any better until Fred arrests – until Fred arrests someone. And it don’t seem like that’s happening any time soon.” He looked at Jarrod. “That’s right, isn’t it, Jarrod?”

“I’m confident there will be an arrest, Heath, but you’re right, it might be some time.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking. Maybe now’s a good time for me to…to visit some of the other Barkley operations. Since I’ve been here I’ve seen a lot of cows, fences and fields, and up to the mine, but not much else.” He didn’t look at Nick, who was beginning to sputter beside him. “There’s the works up in Index, and the lumber camp, and the–.”

“Just you stop right there, boy,” Nick said firmly. “I don’t want to hear any kind of talk like that. Jarrod, you tell him.”

“I understand how you feel, Heath, but it might not be the best idea,” Jarrod said. “I know…I know it’s hard, I know it. But the best thing you can do is wait it out. If you were to leave, it might give some credence to Stone’s accusations, at least in the public mind. It might be very difficult to come home under those circumstances.”

“Unless you’re not planning on coming home,” Nick said. “That it, Heath? That’s what you’ve been thinking about?”

“Some,” Heath admitted, still looking down at the empty glass in his hand.

“Well, just you forget about it. We already had this conversation once, and I meant what I said. Besides, now’s no time to be taking a tour! We got cattle to round up, fruit to pick and grapes to harvest! I need – this ranch – this family needs you boy! And I won’t hear anything about you leaving!” By the end of his speech Nick was up pacing. He stopped in front of Heath, still seated on the sofa. “You hear me?”

“I hear you, Nick,” Heath said. “And I know it’s a busy time. I don’t want to leave you short-handed. But everyone in this valley thinks I fathered that baby and killed that girl. Even the ones don’t…say anything, I can see it in their eyes. I just don’t think I can live this way.”

“Not everyone thinks that,” Jarrod said gently.

“Damn right! Heath – we know you’d never hurt that girl. Anyone who knows you, knows you’d never harm a woman. It’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard of. I never for a second believed that.” Nick went back to his pacing. “Now the other thing, that’s different. I mean, that kind of thing happens, Heath. All the time. No one’s got any –”. Nick stopped suddenly, when he caught sight of the look on Heath’s face. “What?”

“You think I did it,” Heath managed.

“Oh for God’s sake! Haven’t you been listening? I said we know you didn’t kill her, Heath!”

“But you think I was the father of that baby.”

Frustrated, Nick said: “Heath, if you say you weren’t, then you weren’t.”

After a second Heath said: “I guess…I don’t much like having to say it.” He stood, and carefully set his glass down on the side table.

“Dammit, that’s not what I meant!”

“I think it is, Nick.” Heath went to the door and stood in it a second. He turned. “I meant what I said, too. I can’t live like this.” He looked over at Jarrod, back at Nick. “I can’t. Not if it’s going to be like this.”

“It won’t be like this forever,” Jarrod said.

“Forever’s a long time, Jarrod,” Heath said. He stepped through the door and closed it behind him.

“Heath—“. Nick started after him.

“No, wait, Nick. Hold on a minute.” Jarrod came out from behind his desk. “Hold on, sit down.”

“Did you hear what he said?”

“I heard.”

“All I meant was, even if he _had_ , I wouldn’t…well dammit it, Jarrod, it _does_ happen! It happened with our own father. I wouldn’t think any different…I mean—.”

“You mean you thought he was the baby’s father. You thought it, didn’t you?”

“Sometimes I did, yes! Everybody that knew Meg, they all said he was. But it didn’t matter! Heath said he wasn’t, and I believed him!”

“If it had been me, or Gene, would we have had to?”

Nick ran his hand through his hair, and sank down onto the couch. “No.”

“Nick, believe me, I know how you feel. I’ve felt the same way. You don’t know Heath the same way you know Gene and I. That’s just a fact, Nick. And it’s one…I’m beginning to think…we’re going to have to acknowledge if we’re going to change his mind about staying here.” He added thoughtfully, “Maybe it’s asking too much of him.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that…maybe we can’t act as though things are the same for Heath, as they would be for any of the rest of us. You, or me, or Gene, we’d get the benefit of the doubt in this town. Heath doesn’t, so it makes things a hell of a lot harder. We have to acknowledge that. Maybe…”.

“Maybe what?”

Jarrod sighed. “Maybe he’s right. Maybe he should go away, for a little while. Send him up to Index for a couple of weeks. Give him a break from all this. If we don’t, I’m beginning to be afraid one day he will ride out, for good.”

“Jarrod, if he leaves now, for whatever reason, that’s the last we’ll see of him.” Nick stood. “He’s not going anywhere.”

“Maybe you could go with him.”

“Were you listening at all, Jarrod? Have you been spending so much time in a courtroom that you’ve forgotten what it’s like around here this time of year? I can’t go anywhere, and neither can Heath, if we’re going to keep this ranch running!”

“Maybe Gene then,” Jarrod said. “He’ll be having a break soon, and he won’t have to be back on campus for a month, or even longer if he does some reading while he’s off.”

“No one’s going anywhere,” Nick said stubbornly. “Not me, not Gene, and not Heath!”

*****

Supper that night was a quiet affair. Heath said no more about leaving, but Nick, Jarrod – the entire family – knew that time was getting short.

*****

Jarrod liked early mornings in town, before traffic stirred up dust and the heat became intolerable. There was a pleasant chill in the air and he stood outside his office enjoying it. He had a 7:00 a.m. meeting with a San Francisco client who’d taken the overnight train to sign contracts Jarrod had been finalizing. The train was in, but there was no sign of his client, so Jarrod stepped down into the street and started toward the station.

The first shots were so unexpected in the still morning air, he almost didn’t recognize the sound. Then hoofbeats, rapidly approaching, and gunfire. He slapped at his thigh automatically but he wasn’t wearing his gun. He dashed to the nearest doorway and ducked down.

Three riders, with bandanas over their lower faces, riding hell for leather down the middle of the street, followed a few hundred feet behind by two railroad policemen. Across the way, at the jail, Jarrod saw Fred Madden and Hank Lewis emerge with their guns drawn, just as the first riders came even.

“Stop!” Madden yelled. He fired once into the air. The riders didn’t pause, but two of them turned and shot as they passed. The sheriff and deputy leapt for cover behind a trough. A second later the railroad police passed by, firing. One of the first set of riders fell, but the other two, plus the railroad men, and the riderless horse, continued on out of town. Jarrod straightened slowly.

Lewis vaulted onto his horse, tied up in front of the jail, and followed. In seconds he was gone and the street was quiet again. Jarrod ran over to Madden, who was getting up slowly. “You all right?” he asked.

“Fine – what the hell was that?” Madden demanded.

“Something must have happened at the train, they were being chased by the guards. Looks like they got one of them,” Jarrod pointed toward the body lying up the street. “And you, too, Fred.” Jarrod took his arm. There was a splash of red across his upper chest and shoulder. “Where are you hit?”

“Huh?” Madden followed Jarrod’s gaze. “I didn’t feel a thing,” he said. “Jesus, Jarrod – I never…”. With trembling fingers Madden unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it away from his shoulder. There was no wound. The two of them stared at each other. “Hank?” Madden whispered. He looked down the street at the settling dust. “Jarrod, I got to go after ‘em, can you go get Billy, let him know?”

“Of course. Fred, do you want a posse?”

“Don’t know, may be those railroad fellas’ll take care of it. Just in case, though, tell Billy to get some men together. I’ll come back if I can’t catch up to ‘em. Have Billy go by the station, find out what happened. We may have to wire ahead.” Madden’s own horse pawed nervously at the ground as Fred approached.

“Jarrod, let the doc know Hank’s been shot. He might want to get his wagon ready.”

“I will.” As Madden galloped off, Jarrod looked down to the blood spatters on the ground. Judging from the amount, it was likely a bad wound. Probably in the heat of the moment, Lewis hadn’t felt it. But he’d be feeling it soon, if he hadn’t already. Better go for Merar first and send him out after the riders. If Lewis died of his wound…it didn’t bear thinking about. Jarrod turned and ran for the doctor.

*****

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deux ex OFC. Done!

“Well?”

“Feels all right, think it must’ve been too soon.” Heath straightened and squinted up at Nick, seated on Coco. This was the first day he’d tried to work Charger and here they’d barely got off the house grounds and the big stallion started to limp. “Guess he just wasn’t ready.”

“What’ya want to do?”

“Well, it’s only a couple miles back to the house, if someone’d ride back, bring Otis, and Ciego can come out and lead Charger back, wouldn’t lose too much time that way.”

“All right. George, you go on back,” Nick directed. “Roust Ciego, tell him to be careful.”

“Sure, boss.” The hand whirled and took off down the wide road to the house.

“I’ll start back too, reckon I’ll meet up with the rest of you in an hour or so.” Heath wiped his forehead. It was early but already beginning to heat up. “Sorry, Nick.”

“Well now, you can just work an extra hour tonight, that’ll square things,” Nick grinned. “Let’s go, boys!”

Nick and the other hands took off, leaving Heath and Charger alone. Sighing, Heath turned and started down the road, inwardly cursing himself. He’d wanted to try and get things back to normal, as much as was possible. He should have known Charger wasn’t ready. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. Charger nickered and huffed, almost as if he understood. He wasn’t limping now, but then he wasn’t carrying the weight of a man. Well, another week with Otis wouldn’t kill either of them.

From across the valley, toward town, there was a faint shimmer. Dust, Heath thought. Someone was coming, in a powerful hurry. Uneasy, he pulled Charger to the side of the road.

Two men in the front, a few hundred yards ahead of another group. From the slight rise Heath could see them approach. He was too far away to recognize anyone, but there was really only one reason there’d be a chase coming from Stockton. Heath hustled Charger over to a stump and tied him off, then drew his gun and moved to the middle of the road. When the first riders were close enough to see him, he fired into the air. “Hold it!” he roared.

They ignored him, still coming. He had to leap aside to avoid being trampled, then they were past. He aimed at the back of one of the men but didn’t fire. Without knowing the circumstances it would be irresponsible to, besides which they were already too far down the road for a good shot.

Then the trailing group came upon him. They were railroad police, he could tell from the uniforms. They slowed, and one yelled, “Give me your gun!” Heath tossed it to him. He knew well that in a chase like this, there was no time to reload. The three of them spurred their horses and took off again, but no more than a hundred yards further on, the third rider wobbled in the saddle and fell. His horse kept going.

Heath ran up, and it was only then he saw that the third man, that he’d taken to be another railroad man, was Hank Lewis, now lying on his back with his eyes closed. The deputy’s shirt was covered in blood, the skin of his face a pasty white. Heath thought he was dead, until his eyes opened slowly. They stared at each other a minute, then Heath yanked open the shirt.

“Don’t,” Lewis whispered.

It was a mortal wound, Heath had seen enough to know. He settled back on his heels, cursing his luck. Here he was, stuck out in the middle of nowhere, with the only man who could clear him dying right in front of him, and neither of them with a horse they could ride.

Lewis suddenly laughed. “You, me. Funny.”

“What?” Heath asked him.

“Been…trying to…stick that on…you. But now…it’s me laying here…here in the dirt. Funny.”

“Stick what on me, Lewis?”

“You know.”

“I know what?” Despite the deputy’s protests, Heath took his handkerchief and folded it into a thick pad and pressed it against the sluggishly bleeding wound.

“’bout Meg. Loved her,” Lewis whispered. “I did. Funny.”

“Why?”

“Just is.”

“I mean, why stick it on me? Why me?”

Lewis shrugged. “Nothing…personal. You were just the…the best shot I had.” His lips barely moved, his eyes were losing focus.

“You killed her.”

“Accident,” Lewis breathed. “Never…wanted…just an…accident. Lost my…head. Stupid.”

“Your baby too?”

Lewis nodded. “She was…gonna tell…my wife. Told her…you’d marry her. Said, better to…make you. You’d…marry her.”

“It wasn’t my child, Lewis. I’d never do that because of a threat.”

“I was wrong,” he whispered. “Thought you…would…’cause of…your pa. She did…too.”

“What happened?”

“She said…she tried, but you…you…turned her down. She was…. Said she was…gonna tell my wife, tell Madden.” Lewis chuckled wetly, a line of blood beginning at the corner of his mouth. “Couldn’t lose my job, Barkley!”

“And you killed her.”

“It was an accident,” Lewis managed, plainly. “It was an accident.” His eyes closed. “God, I’m sorry,” he whispered with his last breath.

Billy Norris and Howard Merar, along with a handful of men from town, found them there a few minutes later.

*****

After Lewis’s death things settled down some into a sort of uneasy routine. It sure wasn’t the same as it had been before Meg’s death, but there were no more upsets. The fact that Lewis had confessed to Heath meant nothing, legally – a self-serving hearsay statement coming from another suspect. The fact that Lewis had died heroically, in the line of duty, made it even more impossible. At least the sensation of the robbery drove other news from the front page. Three men had been shot during the robbery at the train station and two of them died, including a local farmer delivering a load of tomatoes. The thieves got away with almost $20,000 in gold. A posse caught one of them that night, but the other eluded capture for several days before he was finally killed in a shoot-out with police as he tried to board a ship in San Francisco.

Audra no longer visited the orphanage every other day or so, as she had been used to. Likewise, Victoria no longer spent afternoons visiting. Both women limited their socialization to close friends, and family. The experiences of the past week had marked them deeply, though they assured Heath that he wasn’t to blame. What Heath thought of these reassurances, he kept to himself. He and Nick resumed their regular activities. If he was a little quieter than he’d been, well, he was entitled. Nick found his own temper on the short side.

Jarrod returned to his normal schedule of spending a few days each week in San Francisco; he’d neglected his city clients too long. But he returned to Stockton on Thursday, to attend the funeral for Hank Lewis. Only Victoria came out from the ranch, driving herself. Jarrod helped her down from the buggy and kissed her cheek. “How is everyone?” he asked her, as they walked arm-in-arm to the church.

“About as you’d imagine. Audra looks like she’ll burst into tears whenever you so much as look at her. Nick is worried about something, which of course means he stomps around the ranch snapping at anyone or anything that gets in his path. Heath speaks about twenty words a day – almost all of them to Charger. Jarrod…don’t you think it’s time you told me what’s going on?”

Jarrod said: “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“It’s tragic that Deputy Lewis was killed. But I don’t understand what that has to do with Heath. Sheriff Madden himself said he was standing there when Lewis was shot, and according to Howard there was only the one wound. The fact that Heath found him was just a coincidence, not even Stone has suggested otherwise. But ever since then, Heath has seemed…dispirited. Yesterday after supper I found him standing on the side porch looking out over the ranch, and it looked to me like he was saying goodbye.”

“Did you ask him?”

“I asked him if he wanted to talk. Of course, he didn’t.”

As they turned the corner to the church, Jarrod felt himself acknowledge and believe, for the first time, it was now very unlikely Meg’s killer would ever be publicly identified. He wondered how Heath, how all of them, would go on. He squeezed Victoria’s arm. “When Gene and I get home tomorrow, we’ll all sit down and have a talk.”

The service was well-attended by both town residents and ranchers, in marked contrast to Meg’s, not a month gone by. Because Victoria and Jarrod were among the last mourners to arrive they seated themselves in the rearmost pew. First to speak was Fred Madden, a few words about Lewis’s good work for the town. Jarrod found himself wondering, what kind of a man had Lewis really been? His own interaction with the man had been limited, though he had witnessed the deputy receive his fatal wound, bravely, in the course of his duty. The reference letter from Sheriff Phillips in Modesto had spoken highly of his qualities as a lawman. And yet…and yet…. And yet he’d apparently hounded Meg from Modesto to Stockton, beat her, got her with child. And killed her – though he’d told Heath it had been an accident. Well, with both of them dead, no one would ever know.

Mrs. Lewis was there, enormous with child, escorted by Billy Norris. She wore a dark veil which hid her face. At the end of the service Rev. Wolfe made a plea for contributions to help support her. “I wonder if she’ll go back to Modesto?” Jarrod murmured.

“It would be best, I think. Her family is there?” Victoria asked.

“I believe so.”

“Well, is five hundred dollars appropriate, do you think?”

Jarrod paused, for such a long time Victoria turned to him curiously. “Jarrod?”

“I think five hundred is very generous, Mother,” he managed at last. “But let’s talk about it tomorrow.”

As Mrs. Lewis walked up the aisle, following the casket, she paused briefly to receive condolences from some of those in the pews. Jarrod and Victoria stood as she approached, and she almost stopped, turned as if she would speak to them. But the moment passed, and she was gone.

“Such a tragedy,” Victoria said.

“More than you know,” Jarrod agreed softly.

*****

Friday night he returned to Stockton on the late train, bringing Eugene with him. On Saturday, after breakfast, Jarrod gathered the family in the parlor and told them everything, including the fact that it was now almost certain Meg’s murder would never be officially solved. Nick was furious they’d kept it from him. He yelled at Jarrod, and yelled at Heath too, who was sitting silently on the couch with Audra. When he was done venting he sat down on the other side of his brother and crossed his arms. “You got any other secrets?” he demanded. Heath dropped his eyes and didn’t respond.

*****

That Sunday no one went to services, except Heath, who went with Silas to the colored church. When he returned he seemed to have found some peace at last. It pleased Victoria but it frightened her too, as she detected a sorrowful, resigned edge to his mood, and she was apprehensive when he asked to speak with them all after their early supper. As she looked around at the faces of her children, gathered there in the parlor, Victoria sensed she wasn’t the only one fearful of what Heath would have to say.

In fact he didn’t say anything for a long time, just stood at the fireplace staring into the cold bricks. It was much too hot for a fire but he was drawn to it anyway, as if looking into all the fires that had been there, in the months he’d lived with them. “I’ve been thinking,” he finally said. “About that property down in Monterey. No good for growing fruit, but might make a good ranch for horses, cattle.”

“What about it?” Nick demanded, but he was sure he knew already. When Heath first arrived, when Nick had first been forced to acknowledge the fact of this boy’s parentage, he’d suggested they send him there. It _was_ good land for animals, plenty of water and grazing, but too hilly and cold for agriculture. A hardworking and smart cowboy could do all right, better than all right, for himself there. Tom Barkley had confided in Nick that it had been his hope to someday relocate there and build a really big cattle operation. They’d settled in Stockton originally because Jubal Tanner wanted to farm, and the valley was the best compromise for them. Tom had died less than a year after the Monterey purchase and nothing had been done with the land since.

It shamed Nick to remember that sending Heath there had been his idea, such a short time ago. How things had changed! “Forget it,” he said.

“I think it would be best,” Heath said.

“No,” Nick said, flatly. “You’re not going anywhere, boy. You belong here, with us.”

“Maybe I do and maybe I don’t – I don’t know anymore. One thing I _do_ know, this is no good – the way things are.”

Jarrod said: “Heath, please. Give it time. It will get better.”

“Will it? I don’t think so, Jarrod. I knew a man in the war – he killed his wife when he was drunk. Some lawyer got him off and he joined up. That was three years and a thousand miles away, but wasn’t two nights before everyone in the company knew it.”

“I don’t understand, Heath,” Victoria said. “You say that story followed that man, so getting a thousand miles away didn’t do him any good. Why do you think leaving Stockton will change things for you?”

“I don’t,” Heath said flatly. “As long as no one knows what happened, everyone’ll believe I did it. That’s not gonna change if I go to China. But if I’m gone, things’ll go back to the way they were around here.”

“There are two problems with that argument, Brother Heath,” Jarrod said dryly. “First, I’m not sure it’s true. Second, things most certainly wouldn’t go back to where they were – we’d have lost a brother and a son.”

“There isn’t any losing,” Heath said. “I’d still be your brother and—” he looked at Victoria, “And your son. I’d just be living a ways down the road is all. Like Gene.” He walked over to the couch and sat beside Audra. She didn’t speak, but her eyes were filled with tears.

Nick knew how it would be. Heath would become a relative that they never saw – like Uncle Jim. He’d come around once in a while for funerals, weddings, maybe Christmas every few years. Maybe they’d meet when they brought herds in, and each year they’d have less to talk about. They’d drift further apart, until finally they hardly thought of each other. “No,” he said. “This is your home, Heath. This is where you belong.” Nick knew that this relationship, so important to him now, was too new and fragile to survive the separation Heath proposed.

Jarrod said: “Your idea of visiting Barkley properties, let’s think about that. In another month things will slow down around here, you and Nick can take some time off and travel up the coast.”

Heath shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But it’s no good, Jarrod.”

“This is crazy!” Gene said. “The sheriff and the prosecutor know that Lewis killed her. He _confessed_ to Heath, and now _Heath’s_ the one who has to leave town?”

“No one has to leave town. Least of all Heath,” Victoria said firmly.

“There’s more to it than that,” Heath said. He looked down at his hands, lying in his lap, Audra’s hand clasped between them. Her hand was white, with long, delicate fingers. His own fingers were thick and brown, and two of them on the left hand no longer straightened since they’d been crushed between mast and rope on the salmon boat, so many years ago.

How could he make them understand? He wanted to say: _Ever since I came here, I’ve been trying to be something that I’m not, and I’m worn out from the trying_. But they’d never accept that, they’d argue with him, and he didn’t think he could take much more arguing. Jarrod would keep telling him to be patient, Nick would bluster and yell, Audra would sit there with the tears glistening in her blue eyes. Victoria…well, hard to say what Victoria might do. She usually surprised him. His argument had to be unanswerable.

Problem was, he was having a hard time convincing himself. But there was one argument that was true, and unanswerable. It took a lot for him to say it, but it had to be said. “The truth is, I’m tired of defending myself every minute of every day. And I can’t be happy living here, seeing how it affects all the rest of you. That’s all.” He looked at Nick. “I’m sorry to do this to you at roundup, but I can’t take it any more. I’m going, end of next week. If not to Monterey, then someplace else.”

*****

It was Friday, and Heath was leaving on Sunday.

The first part of that final week was spent in pointless argument; in these, his last days living in the Barkley home, Heath showed his stubborn Barkley nature more clearly than he had in all the months he’d been with them. Several times Nick provoked a yelling match, but eventually even he had to acknowledge no one could change Heath’s mind. In the end, the two of them spent their last days together working, speaking only of the work instead of the words neither found they could utter.

Victoria had suggested the whole family go up to the cabin for a few days. Heath had never been there, and Jarrod hadn’t in years. She pressed the issue until Nick took her aside. “He doesn’t want to,” he told her. “He wants things to be normal.”

“But you’re both spending fourteen hours a day working, Nick. This last week, we’d all like to spend more time with him.”

“This is what he wants, Mother.”

On Friday after supper the brothers were gathered around the pool table, Audra sitting on the sofa and watching. Usually when all four were together, Nick and Heath took on Jarrod and Gene, and usually they were beaten soundly. This night, instead, Heath and Gene challenged their older brothers. Victoria watched them for a long while, marveling at how completely Heath had plugged a hole in the family they’d hardly realized existed – a gap that had existed since Tom Barkley’s death. For so many years, Gene and his father had been teammates whenever the four men played games. In later years, when Gene was home and before Heath came, it had been difficult to find games three could play. It was painful now, to see how well the four of them complemented each other, knowing how soon Heath would be gone.

Nick had similar thoughts, and he couldn’t bear to imagine what it would be like working the ranch without his brother. He remembered that just a week ago he’d been thinking about spending more time at the winery, turning the cattle operation and roundup over to Heath. Instead he’d had to completely withdraw from winery operations while he, Heath and Gene worked brutal hours, getting as much done as they could before the weekend. On Sunday Heath would be leaving and Gene would be going with him, for a couple of weeks, until he was settled. Nick hoped he’d be able to stop by the Monterey property on the way home from the upcoming drive, but there was no certainty. He’d get there during the winter, though, come hell or high water. Maybe Thanksgiving, he’d go down there and talk Heath into coming home for Christmas.

The billiard game ended with a particularly wicked shot from Gene, which caused Nick to cross his arms across his chest and demand: “Exactly _what_ is it you spend your time at at that college?”

“Just following in my big brother’s footsteps,” Gene said with a wink at Jarrod.

“I can’t imagine what you’re talking about,” Jarrod said blandly. “My boy, my college years were spent in the library!”

“Boy howdy, it’s getting thick in here,” Heath said. He walked over to Audra and held out his hand. “Take a walk with me, sis?”

When they’d gone, Nick put his cue away in the rack with more force than was strictly necessary. He was trying to enjoy what time they had left, but the frustration had about eaten through his remaining store of patience. He looked at Jarrod. “I can’t get along without him,” he said flatly.

“I know, Nick,” Jarrod said.

Of course he _could_ , he had before Heath had come; the plain truth was he didn’t want to. Having a partner beside him, someone with a good head, the right mix of skills, and a willingness to work as hard as Nick did, and who cared as much…. He didn’t want to go back to living without it. These last couple of days, he’d tried to put it out of his head as much as possible. Heath, of course, didn’t bring it up. Except Thursday morning he’d asked Nick if he could take off for an hour or two to go into town, to the bank.

_“I’ll come with you, get a cold beer,” Nick offered._

_Heath hesitated. “How about Saturday? I’ll need to get into town, pick up some supplies for the road.”_

_Nick nodded. “Think we should talk to Fred one more time, too.”_

_Heath just shrugged._

In fact Jarrod had spoken with Fred Madden and Phil Archer this morning. There was nothing new, and no real reason to expect a break at this point. They agreed with Jarrod that it was probably a mistake for Heath to leave, however, and Fred in particular had urged Jarrod to try and talk him out of it.

Now Jarrod slowly put his own cue away. “Fred may still find something, Nick. Even if he goes, that doesn’t mean he can’t come back.”

“He’ll never come back,” Nick said. “I don’t think this…business with Lewis is even the main reason he’s going.”

“What do you mean?” Gene asked.

Nick just scowled and walked over to the open window. Jarrod and Victoria exchanged a look.

“Well?”

“Heath…is correct, in one way,” Jarrod said. “You know, things have changed, he’s right about that, because of his coming here. This family…it has changed the way the town looks at us.”

“Well, so what?” Gene still found the situation bewildering, and his family’s acceptance of it, incomprehensible. “I don’t care what anybody thinks about me, but I care a hell of a lot if my brother’s here or not.”

“It’s not that,” Nick said. “You know, Heath’s had to swallow a lot in his life, and he’s done it. And he’d still be doing it, but…”. He looked over at Victoria. “He just…it bothers him a lot, that Mother, and Audra, have to swallow it too.”

“I think after all these years I can stand up for myself,” Victoria said dryly.

“I know that, Mother, and Heath does too, he just doesn’t like to be the cause of it. The party for the orphanage, that really hit him hard.”

Like all of them, Victoria had seen Audra’s red eyes and heard her quiet weeping. She said: “Frankly, I think it might do Audra good to spend less time with the orphans. She gets her heart broken for them, she takes things too much to heart. Someday she’s going to have to think about starting her own family. Not that I would have wanted it to happen like this, of course not, but maybe it will turn out to be a good thing for her.”

“With Heath gone, will Audra be welcomed back there?” Jarrod asked. “If the objection is to this family’s moral standard, that’s not really dependent on where Heath is living.”

“No, but I think that if he’s living somewhere else, it will be easier to overlook.” Victoria sighed. “It’s awful to think, but it may be that things in Stockton _will_ go back to the way they were, before Heath came. After all, the orphanage still needs Barkley support.” She hesitated, then walked to Nick and put her arm around him. “And you’ll have to run the ranch yourself again, Nick. I know it will be hard, but you can do it.”

“It doesn’t matter if I can or can’t,” Nick said gruffly. “I don’t want to.” He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her to his chest. “I’m sorry if that makes things hard for you, and for Audra, but if it were up to me, I wouldn’t care about that. But it’s not up to me. If it were, then he’d be staying. But…only Heath can decide what he can live with.”

“Maybe if we all told him,” Gene suggested. “Each one of us, if we told him we wanted him to stay, that we didn’t care about anything else.”

“He knows,” Nick said, softly.

*****

On Saturday Jarrod rode into town with Nick and Heath. He wanted to spend a few hours at his office while they packed the wagon with the supplies Heath and Gene would need for their trip, and to get started setting up at the property. Monterey was a small town, it might not have a shop with everything they’d need. Heath would have to have some kind of shelter – he could camp for several months yet, but when the winter hit he’d need a roof, and so would the horses. In addition to Charger, under protest and only because Nick threatened to turn him loose if he didn’t, he was going to take with him Otis and Sally, a young mare.

As they tied up in front of the lumber yard, Jarrod noticed Mrs. Lewis in a buggy going the other way. She was still veiled, but he thought her head turned as she passed. He thought Heath saw her as well, but he didn’t comment.

“How long will you two be?” Jarrod asked.

Nick jumped down from the wagon. “Maybe an hour here, then half an hour at the general store. Where else?” he asked Heath.

“Blacksmith, cooper, then the saloon.” Heath wiped his forehead on his shirt sleeve. “Figure cold beer’s gonna be hard to come by, the next couple months.”

Jarrod took his leave of his brothers and walked to his office. On Saturdays his secretary came in in the afternoon only so he was alone for several hours, concentrating on a series of contracts, when the sound of knocking finally penetrated. He went through his office to the reception area and unlocked the door for Fred Madden.

“Come in, Fred,” Jarrod stood aside and motioned the sheriff into his office. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you right away. Is there news?”

“Well, I’m not sure. Not news, Jarrod. Not…news, as such. But…”. Madden sat down uncomfortably on the sofa. He hesitated.

“What?”

“Jarrod you know I’ve been trying to round up some money for Mrs. Lewis,” Madden said finally.

“Yes, I know. Mother made a contribution on behalf of the family.”

“And it was mighty generous, considering…well. The thing is, we didn’t do too well. What with them being new in town and all, they didn’t have a lot of friends.”

“And the good people of Stockton, while they’re willing to run my brother out of town because of his _rumored_ treatment of a woman they wouldn’t have allowed into their homes, they won’t open their wallets for a woman who is genuinely in need.” Jarrod was rarely bitter, but his usual sardonic manner turned acid this morning.

“It makes you wonder sometimes,” Fred agreed. “Jarrod, Mrs. Lewis came to see me this morning. She’s waiting back at my office, in fact. You see, somebody made a big donation on Thursday – eight thousand dollars. Anonymous – just withdrew the money and had it put in her account. She wants to know where it came from, she thinks it must have been the Barkleys.”

Jarrod rubbed his fingers over his eyes. “Fred, I could use a drink,” he said finally. “Join me?”

Madden shook his head. “I’m down a deputy, Jarrod, I should keep a clear head.” He hesitated. “You think I’m going to need one?”

“I know I do,” Jarrod said. He went to the sideboard and poured a healthy slug for himself, then stood there and drank it at once. He poured himself another, then handed a glass and the bottle to Fred. He sat in his chair and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. After a long minute he said: “When Heath came here, Mother had her Will changed, to leave him an equal share of her estate. There’s an investment trust that Father left, we had that changed as well so Heath is an equal beneficiary. A percentage of the profits from Barkley holdings are divided equally and put into separate accounts at the bank. I usually invest most of that – every six months or so everyone will let me know how much they want to keep, and the rest of it goes into the trust accounts. Heath hasn’t been here long enough for that to have come up yet, and two months ago we sold a big chunk of timberland – everyone got almost ten thousand dollars. With everything that’s been going on, I haven’t had a chance to do anything with it.

“Friday morning Albert from the bank came to see me – said Heath had cleaned out his account. It was such a large amount he thought I ought to know. I thought he’d decided to take it with him to Monterey. It was his money, so I didn’t say anything.” Jarrod drained his glass. “Apparently, he did something else.”

“I see.” Fred hesitated. “She wants to know.”

“If it comes from the Barkley family, will she take it?”

“I can’t say. Jarrod – why’d he do it?”

“Of course I don’t know, but I have a pretty good idea,” Jarrod said quietly. “Whatever Lewis was, it’s not his wife’s fault. And certainly not the baby’s. And he did…Lewis, he died honorably. I know that affected Heath, being with him when he died.”

“So he turned over everything, or near everything, he had to her?”

“Heath has never been very comfortable with the money, Fred. He felt he had a right to it, but he didn’t like taking it. I don’t think he touched that account the whole time he was here.” Jarrod sighed. “You can tell her it came from the Barkley family. Once I have a talk with that brother of mine, it will have.”

Madden was silent for so long, Jarrod sat up straight and looked at him intently. “Fred? What is it?”

”She wants to talk to you, Jarrod. She…has some things to say to you.”

“What kind of things?”

“I think I’d best let her tell you herself.”

“Now wait a minute, Fred. If this…if this is something to do with Heath, with Meg Wilson and Hank Lewis – is it?” Madden didn’t respond, but something in his manner made Jarrod’s heart pound a little faster. “If it is, I don’t want to jeopardize the legality of any statement she might make. If she’s got something to say, she needs to say it to you, and to Phil.”

“Phil’s with her now, Jarrod. But she wants to talk to you. And she’s a mighty stubborn woman.” Fred smiled. “Reminds me a bit of Mrs. Barkley, to tell you the truth.”

*****

After so many weeks of anxiety, of fear and pain, it all came to an end abruptly, and from a source Jarrod would never have expected. Fred Madden brought the widow to Jarrod two hours later and left them alone in the inner office. Even her shapeless black dress couldn’t hide her huge belly, and the veil couldn’t hide her weariness. Jarrod led her to a seat, choosing a hard chair instead of the sofa, thinking of the difficulty very pregnant women sometimes had in rising. He offered her a glass of water.

“No, thank you, Mr. Barkley. I’ve accepted enough charity.” She opened her bag and pulled out a bank draft and handed it to him. “I find I can’t accept any more.”

Jarrod examined the amount, it appeared to contain both the five hundred dollars the family had donated and the eight thousand that Heath had. “Mrs. Lewis, forgive me for speaking frankly, but perhaps you should think of your child.”

“My child and I will be fine. I’m returning to Modesto on the evening stage. My family will be very happy to have me home. We should never have come to Stockton. It all…came apart, when we did.” She pulled the veil up and her dark eyes met Jarrod’s without flinching. “Mr. Barkley, you’re reputed to be a sensible man, so I’ll speak frankly with you. We both know what happened. We both know what my husband did. I’m not going to sit here and defend it. It was an appalling sin, but I think he’s been punished for it here on this Earth and it is up to Our Father now to determine his fate. Unfortunately that leaves things rather unsettled for those of still below. I understand your brother means to leave Stockton soon.”

To buy himself time to think and to calm himself, Jarrod walked around his desk and sat down slowly. “Tomorrow, in fact,” he said.

“Well, there’s no need. After today there will be no more reason. I’ve just come from speaking with Mr. Archer and Mr. Madden and I’ve left some items with them I’m sure will help to clarify events. A shirt, and a written document.”

“Margaret Wilson’s diary?” She nodded. “Mrs. Lewis, forgive me, but…what’s made you come forward now? Have you known all along?”

She let the veil come forward again. After a moment she said: “I suspected, of course. No woman can be married to a man with such…impulses…and not know them. After he…after he died, I found the diary. In a way, it made his death harder to bear, because now I know how he struggled against his baser nature. He was never anything but a gentleman with me, and that counts for something, I believe.” Her voice became a little softer.

“I’m sure it does. Mrs. Lewis, I don’t…quite know what to say to you.”

“Say nothing. This situation was not of our doing, it’s simply fallen to us to clear up after those responsible.” She made to stand, and Jarrod quickly jumped up to assist. She waved him aside.

Jarrod said: “I still…I still don’t understand. I’m sorry, Mrs. Lewis, to press you. But…this must be so very difficult. You realize that…word of your husband’s…activities will surely become widely known.”

“And you think that’s reason enough to allow such an injustice?”

“No. No, I don’t.” Jarrod tried to see her face, beneath the black net of her veil. “But I don’t know many who would be willing to do what you’re doing, for someone they’ve never met. My family has been so worried about Heath – I’m so grateful to you. I think you must be the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever met.”

“Mr. Barkley, I erred in not coming forward sooner. If I remained silent, more harm would be done, and not just to your brother. To the truth, Mr. Barkley.” She nodded at the bank draft, still clutched in his hand. “I saw your brother in the bank, on Thursday. The deposit was made on Thursday afternoon. The Barkley family had already made a very generous contribution, according to Reverend Wolfe. The young gentleman at the bank mentioned that your brother was leaving town. Of course I knew why, and what he had done, and I knew I couldn’t allow my husband’s acts to damage more lives.”

“Won’t you speak to Heath?” Jarrod asked softly. “He’s here in town today. I know he’d like to thank you.”

“No, I’d prefer not.”

If she’d already spoken at length with Madden and Archer, given them the diary, they might have told her of her husband’s last words as Heath had remembered them. Jarrod hoped not, because he had spoken only of Meg. “I’d like you to keep this,” Jarrod took her hand and pressed the draft into it. “You know, I saw him…shot, Mrs. Lewis. He never hesitated for an instant, to do his duty. Won’t you accept this, for your child, in memory of that?”

“If I did, the talk here in Stockton would be that you – the Barkley family – paid me to leave town while my husband’s name was slandered.”

“People will talk, you can’t stop them. And you can’t live your life based on what people might say.”

“Mr. Barkley, coming to Stockton was a mistake. My child and I will begin our lives back home, where we belong. I want no tie to this town, not even money, no matter how kindly given. Good day, Mr. Barkley.”

He followed her out, into the reception area of his office where Fred Madden waited. “And good day to you, Sheriff.”

“Can I walk you to the stage, ma’am?” Madden asked.

“No, sir. I need no escort.” She closed the door firmly behind her, before Jarrod could say another word. He and Fred were left to stand there and watch out the window, as she crossed the street with firm steps, and disappeared into the stage station.

“She gave Archer a statement,” Fred commented. “He’s already transcribed it. He’s going to let Stone have a look.”

“Will he print it?”

“Sure – it’s a good story. Maybe even better than Heath.” Madden’s tone was sour.

Jarrod said: “I’m sorry, Fred, about Lewis. But I’m damn glad for Heath.” He shook his head. “She could have left the memory of her husband untarnished – and that will have an impact on the child, I’m sure. She could have taken the money, no one would have ever known.”

“I don’t think that’s the way she thinks, Jarrod. Once she had proof, she only saw one thing to do.”

“The diary. Have you looked at it?”

“Just for a minute, while she was talking to Archer. I thought you and I could go through it next week, alongside the copy.”

Later, when they had examined both versions in detail, the subtle differences that both men had noticed became clear. In the diary, Meg always referred to Heath as “HB”, and to another man – Hank Lewis – as “H”. In the copy, numerous of the “H” entries, ones where she had written of her baby’s father, and his abuse, had been switched to “HB”. Several entries were missing as well; it would take Jarrod a little while to figure out that the events described, innocuous interactions with “H”, had occurred while Heath was up north at the Barkley Sierra mine. The intent of the altered copy seemed to be to convince readers that “H” and “HB” were the same man, and that Meg had simply not been consistent in her notation. “HB” was clearly identified as Heath, while “H” was never identified – she just wrote of his sudden arrival in town and their former acquaintance. Jarrod and Fred would both be amazed at how subtle – and believable – the deception had been, particularly considering the short amount of time Lewis would have had to craft it.

“What about the man that hit him?” Jarrod asked. “In the jail, when the diary was taken? Does she know who that was?”

“She doesn’t know, but she did say that some fella Nick fired, hung around a few days. Came by late nights to talk to Lewis.”

“Summers,” Jarrod said after a minute. “Or Marvas, they got in a fight with Heath, said some things that set Nick off, he fired them both. I haven’t seen them in town.”

“No, they’re long gone,” Madden said. “Left a pretty sizeable tab at the saloon.”

“Speaking of the saloon, I’m late! Want to come along, give a couple of cowboys some good news? Nick and Heath are waiting.”

Madden said: “Maybe I will at that. Jarrod, I’m mighty tired of bad news.”

*****

A week later they packed up to spend a few days at the cabin. With the extra work they’d rushed through, and with Gene’s help, Nick felt even he could take a day or two off to enjoy being with his family. His whole family. Right now he and Heath were watching and hooting with laughter as Gene and Audra struggled to catch the goat they planned to take with them. She’d eaten through her tether and was now jumping around the yard. Nick had one hand on Heath’s shoulder, as if he didn’t want to let him get any further away. But Heath wasn’t going anywhere.

It had been easier to convince him than Jarrod had thought. He’d been half-afraid that Heath would still insist on leaving. But they’d convinced him to at least delay, and the response of the town to the sensational news had gone the rest of the way to changing his mind. Monday evening Mrs. Mitchell and Mrs. Zach came to the ranch to apologize to Victoria and Audra, and to Heath, and to reschedule the picnic for the orphans. Other neighbors stopped by in the ensuing days, as ashamed of themselves as Nick had promised Heath they would be. On Friday Heath returned the tools he’d bought to the Stockton merchants, and on Sunday he’d even gone to church. The apologies, the sudden good opinion, were almost as hard on him as the earlier viciousness had been, but he managed to endure it. For the first time, people in town looked him in the eye when they spoke to him. Jarrod thought that the rush of shame and guilt might actually hasten Heath’s ultimate acceptance in town; after all, the people of Stockton could no longer feel so very superior. But it wasn’t the way any of them would have chosen for it to happen.

Several of the ranch hands came over to Nick and Heath to receive final instructions for the days they’d be on their own. Halfway through his speech, Nick suddenly lunged after the goat, which had darted his way. Victoria and Jarrod watched in satisfaction, as the hands turned their attention to Heath and listened to what he had to say, nodded and then walked away. Days earlier, they would have waited for Nick to confirm Heath’s orders.

“Hard to believe how far we’ve come,” Jarrod commented quietly.

“And how lucky we are. You know, Jarrod, I’d still like to do something for Mrs. Lewis. I was thinking of creating a scholarship for children of lawmen killed in the course of their duty. Do you think she’d be willing to take that kind of help?”

“Even if she isn’t, I think it’s a wonderful idea. If not that child, some child will benefit. I’ll get started on the paperwork as soon as we get home.”

“Jarrod…do you think it’s over?”

Jarrod didn’t answer right away. He wanted to think so. Finally, he said, “I think some people will always believe Heath was guilty. But those are the people who would think badly of him no matter what. I do think that there’s an opportunity, now, for people to come to know him, maybe a grace period, when they’ll be willing to know him, and once they do…”. He smiled and put his arm around her. “Then I think it will be over.”

 


End file.
